The Best I Ever Had
by WhatsMyNomDePlume
Summary: Sex between friends complicates everything. Bella knows this. But she has no idea how much more Edward is going to complicate things.
1. Chapter 1

Who owns Twilight? Not this girl.

* * *

**The Best I've Ever Had**

**1.**

"Tell us."

"No."

"Tell us."

"No."

"Tell us."

"No."

"Tell us!"

"Okay!"

"Really?"

"No."

Sometimes, I just like messing with Alice.

"C'mon, Bella. You _have_ to tell us who it is," she insists.

I look at her and roll my eyes. "No, I really don't."

"You're such a killjoy. You never talk about guys or sex, and then you say something like this and won't tell us who it was with? That's just bitchy," Rosalie tells me. "You're being a total prude."

"Why am I friends with you? You just called me a killjoy, bitch and prude in the span of fifteen seconds." With friends like these, who needs self esteem?

"Tell us."

"Oh my god, guys, no!" I say, exasperated. "I can't believe I was dumb enough to even mention it."

"Well, you were dumb enough," Rose says. God, she's just so wonderful. "So just give us a name, and we'll stop bugging you."

"I'm not going to tell you," I repeat.

"Tell who what?" Emmett asks, joining us on the couch. There's a prolonged moment of unease when he looks like he's heading for the free seat next to Rosalie as if by instinct, then realizes that they're no longer dating and sits down next to Alice instead.

"Nothing," I reply quickly. "It's nothing."

"What's nothing?" Jasper pipes in as he sits down next to Alice. Behind him I see Edward enter the coffee shop and grab his drink, before heading over to our table.

Shit.

Crap.

Shit crap.

I need to change the subject. Now. I need to think of something riveting and juicy that'll get their attention and make them forget all about my mystery man.

"Did you know that mama birds vomit up their food because baby birds can't handle eating something that's not already been digested?"

That's not it.

Emmett makes a face at me, but it's Edward, piping up from behind me, who says what everyone is thinking. "What the fuck are you talking about, Bella?" He sits down next to his sister with a bright pink coffee cup—apparently, the coffee shop hasn't gone back to their regular ones, even though Valentines' Day was yesterday—as he says hi to the others.

"She's deflecting," Rose tells him, arching an eyebrow in challenge to me. I swear to God, if I didn't _know_ she didn't know, I'd think she knew. And of all people that shouldn't know, it's Rose because I don't think she'd be pleased to know that this conversation is actually about her brother.

"Deflecting from what?" Edward asks.

Oh God.

I see it happening in slow motion, the words leaving Alice's mouth like a car skidding and screeching on the brakes, trying not to hit anything.

"Bella told us she had the best sex of her life two days ago but won't tell us who it was with."

I wish a car would hit me right now.

"Actually, it's 'whom'," Jasper corrects.

"Shut up, Jasper," Emmett says.

Edward turns to me, his green eyes bright and blazing, and it reminds me of the look he had as I took my shirt off that night. My stomach twists, and the feeling is not as unpleasant as it sounds.

And then he smirks and looks more like what he actually is: the smuggest bastard on the planet. "Really? _Really_? The best sex of her life, huh?"

"Yeah. She said they did it three times," Rosalie informs him. I want to smack her. Since she's so readily providing the bitch, it's the least I can do to donate the slap.

"In one night?" Emmett asks, impressed. "Dude's got game."

Edward looks like the cat that ate the canary. Too bad that canary was, well… me.

"Dude's got multiple game," Jasper amends.

Alice titters. "That's not that only thing that was multiple—"

"Alright, alright, shut up already," I mutter.

"Edward, do you know who the guy is?" Rose asks, turning to him. "She tells you everything."

He's so slick an oil spill would slide off him. "No. She told me she slept with someone but she didn't tell me who he was." He keeps his eyes on me while he says this and for a moment, it feels like he is on my side—which he should be, since it's also his side.

"Damn. Come on, Bella, spill."

"You know, she failed to mention that it was the best she ever had," Edward interrupts, drawling his words out, making sure he has everyone's attention. "But she _did_ tell me that they did it four times, not three."

"Four? God damn, Bell!" Alice says.

"You mean, Jeze-bell," Jasper jokes lamely and snorts.

"Shut up, Jasper." This time it is Em and Rose in unison and they smile at each other for a moment before remembering that their break up wasn't amicable and they are supposed to hate each other now. They quickly plaster their faces with unconvincing scowls.

"The fourth time was in the morning," I protest.

"Yeah, but you came twice," Edward argues. His eyes widen as he quickly catches himself and says, "At least, that's what you _told_ me."

"You're such a fucker," I tell him, narrowing my eyes.

He grins, wide and proud. "I am. I really, really am." He pauses before gleefully adding, "You also told me he had a huge penis."

"What? No, I didn't!"

"Okay, no you didn't, but he must, right?"

I glare at Edward, and Emmett gives him a strange look. "Dude, why do you care how big his penis was?"

Edward's head darts in Em's direction and he tries to shrug it off. "I don't care… I just think Bella should give this guy the credit he deserves."

"Four times? Forget credit, she should give him a key to her apartment so he can come in anytime he wants," Rosalie corrects.

Alice snorts. "He won't be the only one coming."

I love how my friends talk about my sex life like I'm not sitting right here. Not to mention in public and rather loudly. "Okay, this episode of sex and the shitty is over, alright guys? New topic."

I think Rose can sense that I'm about to lose it. She's softened from trying to bulldoze the answer out of me to just slapping me around a bit. "You know we'd shut up about it if you just told us who he was."

No, you really wouldn't.

As if realizing that if I were to tell them, he'd get as much shit as I am now, Edward pops in and says, "Whatever, guys. She'll tell us when she wants to tell us."

I shoot him a grateful smile, and he holds my eyes for a bit longer than he needs to, a bit longer than he normally does. My stomach flips again.

He has to look away when Rose asks him about what time they're going to drive upstate to the anniversary party their parents are hosting this weekend. It's only when our eye contact breaks that it hits me.

This is normally the type of thing you realize the morning after you sleep with someone you wouldn't normally sleep with, when all the details of his existence, all the reasons you shouldn't have done what you just did hit you like a bad, belated hangover.

But the morning after wasn't weird at all. When I woke up for the first time, it was to his lips and hands. When I woke up for the second time, he was fully clothed and had made me coffee. Even though it was his apartment, he'd left me there to go to work with a kiss on my nose, which had made me feel as good as anything we'd done the previous night, and a 'see you later'.

And later is now.

So I guess it makes a little sense that this is when the full realization of what happened really crashes down on me.

I slept with Edward.

Edward.

The brother of one of my best friends.

One of _my_ best friends.

I can feel panic welling up in me, but it doesn't feel like regret. It's less _what I have done_ and more _what am I going to do now_, maybe mixed in with a minuscule bit of _I wonder if I'll ever get to do it again_. It feels like my stomach and my guts are trying to tango with each other. Whenever I'm like this, I always fall back on Edward to calm me down, only I can't do that now because Edward is what is riling me up.

Still, instinct takes over and I look up at him. He frowns and tilts his chin up slightly, silently asking me what's up. I can do nothing but frown back and shake my head. He gives me a small smile and surprisingly, it's enough to cheer me up.

"You know…" Emmett begins, during a lull in the conversation. "Maybe Bella won't tell us who it is because she doesn't know who it is."

I glare at him and slam my fist into an arm.

"Ow!" Jasper yelps.

Unfortunately, Emmett is sitting too far away from me.

"Sorry, Jas. You were the closest."

He gives me a dirty look but says nothing.

"Can we all stop talking about my sex life now?" I ask hotly.

"Fine," Rosalie says. "We just thought you'd want us to appreciate that you actually have one, for once."

I make a face. "Stop acting like I'm a nun."

Emmett snorts. "I don't think anyone ever thought you were a nun. Just an antisocial, emotionless uber-bitch."

"That we know and love," adds Alice, as if that'll make me feel better.

Thankfully, the topic changes, but their comments stick with me. As we're all getting ready to go our separate ways a little later, I tug on the tail of Edward's plaid shirt, letting the others walk out before us.

"Am I an antisocial, emotionless uber-bitch?" I ask.

He laughs it off. "Not to me."

There. That's all I needed to hear.

—|—

_This night is weird, different. It's Valentine's Day Eve, whatever the fuck that is, and we're at some new bar in a part of a city we rarely go to. It was supposed to be all of us—but Rose and Em backed out for obvious reasons, then Alice and Jasper for less obvious ones and now, it's just us. _

_You and me._

_And we're _different_. _

_Maybe I'm imagining it but you're teasing me, instead of taunting, flirting instead of fighting. Or maybe I'm starting it and you're doing it back. It's fucking with my head and part of me thinks: fuck it, get drunk and see what happens. The other part of me thinks: why not _just_ see what happens. Because this may not be something I want to blame on the alcohol or explain away by poor judgment.  
_  
_What happens is I want to kiss you. It starts out as just an idea, just a flash and it's gone, then turns into an urge, and now it's like a new language inside my head, and I can't understand any other thought except that I need to touch you. Now._

* * *

So, this is a little fic of the fluffy variety. It will probably be around short chapters (between 1-3K) posted at least once a week, but probably more often. The premise came from a line in an episode of _Friends _(The One Where Phoebe Hates PBS) but doesn't follow that plot.

_Famouslyso_ makes banners that are waaay too pretty for my stories. You can find this one's in my profile.

For **americnxdiot**, because bff-to-more is her jam. Is it silly to dedicate a story to your beta? Eh, whatever. She knows I'm silly and still tells me when she likes or hates things. You should too.

Next update, Sunday?


	2. Chapter 2

**The Best I Ever Had**

**2.**

"Yes, Mom," I say into the phone as I pull off my scarf. I've been standing just inside the entrance of the bar for twenty minutes. In that time, I've said about ten sentences, mostly consisting of 'yes mom' and one 'really mom?' for variety, waiting for a lull in the conversation so I can hang up and get a much needed drink. I have a lot of affection but a low tolerance for my mother, so listening to her drone on about her new boyfriend and how he could be "the One"—and if by "the One", she means "husband", it is actually the Fourth—is less than an ideal way to spend my time. By the time I get off the phone, I'm mentally exhausted and emotionally cynical. Um, _more_ cynical.

I walk into the actual bar and see that Edward's the only one there, nursing a beer, his long legs braced around a bar stool. I take a little longer than I should to hang my coat on the rack near the front, but that may be because I keep missing the hook—which may be because I am still staring at Edward.

"Hey." I take the seat next to him and he motions to the bartender, tapping the lip of his beer bottle with his index finger to signal for one more. He's smooth in that way that can't be taught or learned, and I can't be bothered to deny that I've always found it attractive.

"What's up?" he asks me, left eyebrow arched. Always found that attractive, too.

I look at him. Does he know that I was staring at him a few seconds ago? That I'm thinking about how good he looks? That I may be picturing him shirtless right now?

"What do you mean?"

"Well, let me explain. In America and many other parts of the English speaking world, 'what's up' is a phrase used most commonly by the younger generation that signals greeting or—"

"Shut up. And nothing's up with me," I tell him. It's almost not a lie.

He elbows me gently. "Ask _me_ what's up."

"Alright, I'll bite."

"I know you will," he says, tapping a spot on his collarbone covered by his shirt where I _may_ have left a tiny hickey.

I roll my eyes and say with exaggerated excitement, "What's up, Edward?"

He grins that half smile that charmed the pants off me—literally—two nights ago. "This chick I hooked up with said I was the best she ever had."

I would roll my eyes again, but I'm afraid that I've done it so much today, they might get stuck. "Kiss my ass, Cullen."

He smirks. "I did." It's true, he did. "It was very nice."

I can't help but fall into his trap. "My ass or the kiss?"

"Both. It was a nice ass, which made it a nice kiss."

"Well, thank you."

"Do you have anything you want to tell me about my ass?"

It looks really good in those jeans. "No."

"Liar, liar, sexy little pants on fire."

Sexy little pants? I look at him strangely. He has never called anything I've ever worn 'sexy'. Then again, before two days ago, we'd never fallen into bed with each other either, so maybe this is a new world where all the old rules are off.

"They're leggings," I correct him.

He snorts. "I'm a guy. Things that cover your legs: pants." He contemplates this for a moment. "Or nothing at all, which is how I'd prefer it."

I snort indelicately. "It's winter—I have to resist the temptation to wrap myself up in flannel on a daily basis. Leggings are an achievement for me."

He shrugs. "Leggings, cheggings—"

"_Jeg_gings," I correct him.

"Yeah, what the fuck are jeggings?"

"Jean leggings."

He looks confused for a second. "Aren't those just jeans?"

"No, they're really tight—and sort of stretchy."

"Again, aren't those just jeans?"

I shake my head. "Don't bother, you wouldn't get it."

He nods. "You're right. I wouldn't. Because I don't have a vagina, and therefore do not understand terms like that. Of course, you know that, as of two nights ago."

"Are you saying that before two nights ago, it's feasible that I could have thought you had a vagina?"

He frowns. "Yeah, I didn't think that comment through."

"Welcome to a concept called thinking before you speak."

"You should talk. I'm pretty sure you weren't doing that when you told Alice and my _sister,_" he says, making a disgusted face, "about Sunday night. Why'd you do that anyway? You never talk about stuff like that."

I shrug. "I don't know. Temporary stupidity, I guess."

He grins and gently pokes me in the ribs, making me squirm. "Is it because it was so good that you just _had_ to tell someone about it?"

It is, but I'm not about to tell him that. "You know, I've always known you were a smug bastard but you've reached new levels today."

He smiles, and for once, it's not a smirk. It's sweet, which throws me off. He swivels my bar stool so I'm facing him, leans in close to me and looks me right in the eyes as he says like it's a matter of fact, "Bella, I've seen you naked. Of course I'm going to be smug."

I freeze, even as my blood heats up. I'm part shocked, part aroused, and completely confused.

Since when does Edward talk about me naked?

Since he's seen me naked, I suppose.

I try to shake it off and playfully slap him like I normally would if he had made any other comment. But he didn't. He made _this_ comment, and it feels anything but normal. I can still smell his cologne and the barley barely on his breath; all these things I've never noticed before that now I can't stop thinking about.

It's such a warring feeling. One part of me is inevitably pleased with the compliments and attention—what girl wouldn't be?—and another is absolutely loathing how uneasy I feel around Edward. It's Edward. My best friend. He's supposed to be easy—not like _that_, of course. Although, if I take into account how quickly we fell into bed together on Sunday, he is kind of easy. But if he's easy, it means I am too, so I'm going to ignore that.

When I pull myself out of my head, Edward's already turned away and taken a sip of his beer, his lips wrapped around its lip, making me think of when they were on _my_ lips. I have to shake out of this stupor I've worked myself into, so when I manage to tear my eyes away, I turn and face outward, towards the rest of the bar. I see two girls in the corner eyeing him.

And if things between Edward and I weren't already different, if there wasn't already this sort of B.C./A.D—Before Coitus/After Doing-it—divide, this would cement it. The hot welling of something sharp stabs me when I see those girls look at him, look at me, wonder _are they together?_ and realize _no they're not, he's available_. It's immediately recognizable, even if I can't exactly name it.

I push that feeling down and take a long sip of my beer—I'm very good at doing that. The fighting my feelings part, not the drinking beer part, though I'm no slouch in that department either. But I know what I have to do, and I refuse to let this stupid gnawing in the pit of my stomach ruin the best friendship I've ever had. Edward's flirting and teasing is harmless; this feeling is not. It's toxic and ugly, and within a few moments, I've convinced myself that I don't want to hang out with him tonight because I'm tired and ready to fall into bed.

Things are different, but if I don't act like they are, then they don't have to be. Everything doesn't have to be ruined.

"Edward," I hiss. He turns to me and frowns as I slip my scarf around my neck.

"You're leaving?"

I nod. "Getting tired." Tired of hearing my own thoughts, which seem to have been in constant disarray for the past few days.

He takes a big chug to finish the rest of his beer. "I'll come with you."

"No!" I say a little too loudly, a little quickly. He looks alarmed. I dart my eyes to the corner with the two girls. "An eight and a nine, northwest," I tell him, using this ridiculous code that Emmett and Jasper made up so they could check out girls.

"What?" he asks, scrunching up his face in confusion.

I should have known Edward wouldn't understand. So instead, I make it obvious, jerking my chin in their direction, knowing they're still watching us. "Girls." He looks at me blankly. "Looking at you." His brow furrows. I huff. "Those girls are looking at you. Go talk to them."

"But I thought we were hanging out tonight," he says.

I shrug as I slide of my stool. "Don't worry, we can hang out anytime." I begin to wind my scarf around my neck as he jumps off his stool, and in his attempt to help me, he winds up completely palming my boob by accident. I think.

His eyes grow, wide and he looks like a little boy who got caught with his hand in the cookie jar—I suppose breasts _are_ the adult male equivalent of a cookie jar. For a moment, all those frantic feelings disappear and are replaced by Edward and I just being the way we always are, the only way I know how to be.

"Did you just touch my boob?"

"I might have?" he says, somehow looking smug and guilty at the same time. I don't know how he does that. It's a rare and irritating gift. "I can't say I regret tit, though."

I narrow my eyes at him. "Really, Edward?"

He gleefully replies, "You're the breast, Bella."

I throw my arms in the air in frustration. "Now I'm _really_ leaving."

As I walk to the entrance and pull on my coat, he calls loudly from the back of the bar, "Thanks for the mammaries!"

I say goodbye to him with one very expressive finger, but I'm laughing to myself as I step out into the cold. For a moment, I feel so good that we're back to us that I consider going back inside. But in the end, I decide to end things on a high note instead of messing it up again with my thoughts and feelings. I walk quickly down the street to my house before I can change my mind and fall asleep before any of my thoughts can catch up with me.

—|—

_I make my decision as I head back to the table. When you lean forward to take your drink from me, I hold it away. You roll your eyes and reach across me__,__ and I dip my head so your lips wind up on mine._

_We're kissing._

_You and me._

_And it doesn't feel odd or strange. It's soft, surprising. It's sexy, and it feels natural. Normal, even._

_When I pull away slightly, I brace myself. But you don't slap me. You don't look disgusted or terrified. Best of all, you don't ask me, 'what was that?' _

_Because I don't really know what it was, but it was something and you feel it, too._

_You're looking at me like you always do and it makes me feel like it always does, like I'm a cross between Superman and an annoying dog all at once. You're the only one who takes all my shit and gives back just as good. I kind of love that._

_But you're also looking at me with something else—want. It's a mix of lust and like and awe, and I recognize it because that's exactly what I'm feeling. __I kind of love that, too__._

_When I lean down to kiss you a second time, it's without all the worry of before. Now there's a feeling that I can't name or describe, that's brand new but feels like it could have been around this whole time and I never knew it. And since I can't describe it—or maybe even if I could—the only thing I can do, the only thing I want to do, is __show__ you._

_

* * *

_And that's as angsty as it gets, folks. I think everyone's figured out the part in italics by now, right? I'm going to aim to update on Tuesday, but it may be Thursday.

**americnxdiot** fixes stuff and leaves Edward notes about her hatred for jeggings. In other words, she's fantastic.

And you guys: why are you so awesome? (No, really, tell me. I want reasons.)


	3. Chapter 3

**3.**

_I guess there's no real excuse for what we're doing, no reason that we're suddenly doing it now, except that we are. We both know what's happening, but at the same time, we have no fucking clue. It's all just instinct and adrenaline blending together when I take your hand and we leave the bar __to__ hail a cab. I give him my address, but that doesn't mean anything—we could just be going over there like we have a million times before, and then this thing will be over, and I'll never kiss you again._

_I don't really want that, so I'm so glad when you kiss me in the cab, almost pouncing so you're stretched over me._

"_No sex in my cab!" the cabbie barks and even though I just want to keep kissing you, you're laughing into my mouth and I'm eating it up until the laughter is mine. You sit up and I follow, wrapping my arm around you._

_This is so strange—you're __at once__ the girl I've known for so long and also this completely new person; I know your faces and how your mouth moves, but not how it feels or kisses, and this blend of familiarity and discovery is addictive. There's something about tonight, or maybe that's just an excuse and there's something about you and me, and I can't stop touching you. I don't want to, and you don't seem to want me to. Before I can think about it, we're kissing again, and again, the cab driver shouts, "No sex in my cab!"_

_I pull away and laugh. "Okay, buddy. No sex."_

"_In his cab," you breathe and I look at you. I'm sure my eyes are wide, half with surprise, half with an emotion that can only be described as 'fuck. yes.' I didn't really know where this was going—you're hot, so I hoped for sex, but we've been friends for so long, so I didn't know if you'd want that. Then you kissed back, so I hoped for sex, and I'm a breathing male, so I hoped for sex, and you look beautiful after you've been kissed, so I hoped for sex. _

_It blows my mind that maybe you're hoping for it, too. _

_You look sheepish, like you may be regretting speaking so openly so I kiss you again—and of course, _again_, the cabbie yells._

"_Okay, sir!" you tell him. "We know. No sex."_

"_In his cab," I say, looking right at you._

_You smile right back, and, fuck, it's sexy. "In his cab." _

_You say it like a promise._

—|—

Each morning I wake up takes me further and further from the night with me and Edward, and still, I can't seem to escape it. If anything, it follows me more and more, making me vacillate between being in my head too much and being completely out of my mind.

I open my eyes today, and my first thought is of how I woke up to him two mornings ago. He looked so sweet and boyish with sleep still in his eyes, which had made me laugh considering that not even two hours before that, he'd woken me up to show me just what a man he was. Soft on his lips and hard on his body, fingers that found me everywhere, so many smiles, so much laughter. I'd always thought laughing would be the last thing I'd want to do in bed, but with Edward, it wasn't because it was funny, it was because it was fun. It may have been the best sex I ever had but it was also the most fun I've ever had.

My stomach twists unpleasantly and my breath shortens when I think of how I left him at the bar—how he might be waking up to someone else right now.

It's jealousy, I know it is, but I tamp it down and try to access the rational part of my brain. It's not easy, especially first thing in the morning, but I need to face it. I left him there because Edward is my best friend, and the sooner we get past that brief interlude where we acted like we were so much more, no matter how enjoyable it was, the sooner things can be stable again.

So I ignore the heat that floods through me when I see him, sitting alone, reading something at the coffee shop after work later that day. I try to look as normal as possible and more importantly, I try to look at _him_ as normally as possible.

"How was the rest of your night?" I ask, after I sit down next to him.

He shrugs, eyes back on the document in his hands, and I watch a little too closely as his long fingers smoothly turn the page. "Whatever. Nothing special."

My heart beats faster as I say my next words. "Those girls… they seemed pretty interested in you."

He frowns, maybe at my words, but more likely at something he reads. "Oh yeah." He slides his eyes to me. "It wasn't the best I ever had or anything, but as threesomes go, it was fun."

I blurt out a scandalized: "What?"

I realize two seconds too late that he's messing with me. He laughs and bumps his shoulder against mine. "You should see your face right now."

I know it's probably bright red—he gets such a kick out of winding me up. "My face is fine."

"You look like a beautiful..." He searches for the word to finish his sentence, but before I can freak out that he just called me beautiful, he settles on, "tomato."

I can't help but laugh. "A beautiful tomato? What does that look like?"

He shrugs, grinning back at me. "Go look in the mirror."

I laugh again—actually, I think it's more of a giggle, and _since when do I giggle_? "There's no such thing as a beautiful tomato."

"Alright, get rid of the tomato part, then," he says easily and turns back to the paper in his hands. And there he goes with the compliments again. The moment is light, but I weigh it down with his words and my thoughts so much that I have to crack a joke.

"So the whore d'oeuvres didn't whet your appetite?" I quip.

"The hors d'oeuvres…?" He looks perplexed for a minute before his eyes brighten. "Ahh. The _whore_ d'oeuvres. Clever." He chuckles, then frowns. "They weren't really slutty."

Oops, I think my irrational jealousy was showing because, "No, they weren't. I guess that's just my emotionless, uberbitch coming through."

He rolls his eyes. "I don't know who is dumber: Emmett for saying something like that, or you for actually believing it." Abruptly, he changes the subject, "You looked hot last night."

I frown at him and say what is on my mind. "You have never told me I looked hot _or_ beautiful before."

I want him to address what I said, explain what's with all these comments and compliments. Instead, he just shrugs and continues to smile slyly. "My mistake. I'll gladly eat crow if it means I get to—"

"If you finish that sentence with 'if it means I get to eat you', I _will_ feed you your own nuts."

He laughs. "I'm not that crass." I give him a look. "Alright, I'm sometimes that crass. But not right now. Can you do me a favor?" He holds up the piece of paper in his hand. "I have this company evaluation essay-thing I had to write for work. Will you look at it? Your grammar is way better than mine."

I look over his letter quickly and immediately find a couple mistakes. "Here, switch that around and use first person, so you're not speaking in passive voice. And split this into two sentences after the comma, so you don't have a dangling participle."

He smirks. "Oh, but I do have a dangling participle."

I smirk back. "And I'm trying to cut it off."

He makes a horrified face, and I laugh. This I know how to do. This is the Edward and Bella I know how to be a part of. That other one with the looks and compliments makes my head spin until the rest of me is dizzy.

"You're twisted, Swan." Then he smirks again. "But then again, I liked that. You were rather flexible."

"Don't push it, Edward."

"But I push it so well." Still with that smirk.

"You better watch what comes out of your mouth."

"As opposed to what goes in—" He sees the look on my face and cuts off. "Okay, I'll stop."

I can't stay mad at him. Who am I kidding, I wasn't really mad at him in the first place. But I have to know what he thinks he's doing, because as much as I'd like to pretend this flirtation does nothing for me—it does. A lot. It thrills me and then it scares me because it thrills me.

"Can I ask you something?"

"Anything." I try to ignore the fact that his answer—and how readily he gives it—warms me to my toes.

"Why do you keep doing that?"

"Doing what?"

"Teasing me about the fact that we… you know," I dart my eyes around and lower my voice, "_Slept together."_

"Wait!" He looks panicked for a second. "We…" he lowers his voice like I did, "_Slept together_?"

I slap his arm but can't help but smile.

"No, seriously," he continues, breaking into a grin. "We barely did any sleeping."

"Edward…"

He cocks his head slightly as he regards me for a moment. "You really don't know why?"

"Why you keep teasing me?" I think I might and that answer is too much for me to comprehend so instead, I say, "No, I don't."

What I really want—what I really need—to hear is his answer, in his own words.

He looks a little crushed for a moment before adopting a boyish, buoying smile. "You're slower than I would have thought, Bella. Well, I guess I'll just have to show you." He squeezes my hand, stands from the couch, and asks, "I'm going to get a cup of coffee. You want something?"

I nod dumbly, still confused by his comments, my thoughts circling around _does he mean what I think he means?_ and _what exactly do I think he means_?

"What do you want?" he asks me.

I have no idea. "Surprise me," I tell him.

He grins, all warmth and white teeth. "Oh, I will." He makes a motion to walk away, but I reach up and grab his forearm—his very hard forearm, with soft skin I can feel where he's rolled his shirtcuff.

_Focus_.

"You can't walk away!" I cry. "Our conversation isn't over. What exactly are you—"

"Oh hey, _Rose_," he says, loud and deliberately. I drop his hand and turn around, but Rose isn't there. By the time I turn back to him, he's standing in line for our drinks. I sit there, pretending to proofread the letter for Edward, but really, like the song playing quietly in the background, I'm just bewitched, bothered and bewildered until Emmett and Alice walk in. Em joins Edward in line as Alice sits down with me.

"What's up, Bella?" Alice asks. "What's that?"

"Nothing, just something Edward asked me to proofread. How are you?"

"Miserable!" she wails.

"Why?"

"Well," she says, taking a deep breath as if to calm herself. "My best friend in the whole wide world won't tell me the identity of her secret lover." I groan and pretend to stab my eye out with Edward's pen. It doesn't deter her in the least. "At least tell us if you've seen him since that night."

I'm tempted to not say anything but Alice has that look on where she's made her eyes the size of a Disney woodland creature's, so I sigh and say, "I have."

I think I'm actually squinting with the effort it takes to not let my eyes wander over to Edward as Emmett comes and sits with us.

"God dammit! See, Em? I told you we should have gone to her apartment last night."

I could clarify that he didn't come over last night but the more information I give them, the deeper a hole I dig myself into, so I don't bother. "What, are you stalking me now?" I ask.

"Well, you live alone. We just wanted to check up on you," Emmett lies.

"Sure," I say. I somehow manage not to squeak when I say, "Edward lives alone, too, y'know. You stalk him?"

"Nah, we only care about you, B," Emmett says.

"Besides, he went to the bar for a drink and then went home," Alice says. "Rose told me."

I feel a little panic at the fact that if they found out I was at the bar, too, they could easily jump to the very right connection of the identity of my 'secret lover', so I quickly try and deflect the conversation. "So you leave his stalking to his sister. You guys are like partners-in-crime," I joke and then feel the hot claustrophobia of embarrassment wash over me as Em's face becomes small. "Sorry, Em, I didn't mean—"

"It's okay," he says, so quickly that I know it's really not. Luckily, Edward demonstrates excellent timing and brings our drinks over. I can't wait to find out what mine is, so I take a sip. It's hot chocolate, and even though it's burning my tongue because I drank it too soon, it's sweet and delicious.

"I have a date," Emmett blurts suddenly, surprising us all.

Edward freezes for a moment, no doubt thinking of his sister, but recovers, asking, "Someone new or the same girl?"

Emmett went on his first post-break up date last week; he didn't tell me or Alice about it, maybe believing that we'd want to keep some female solidarity with Rose, or Edward because it was his sister—this is the problem with dating within your circle of close friends. But he did tell Jasper who told Edward who told me. I may have told Alice (which I'd go to say is another problem with dating within your circle of close friends) and the date sounded terrible, like something that girl could submit to Texts from Last Night:

_(917) Went on a date with a guy who drank way too much tequila and cried about his recent break up. And then threw up. On my shoes._

As if recalling this, Emmett visibly shudders. "No, that girl will never—" He breaks off and looks at the three of us. "Wait, how do you guys know about that?" Edward and I look at each other, but it's way too late to feign ignorance, so I just shrug. Emmett knows how our friends are. But instead of getting pissed off, he just asks, "Does Rose know?"

Edward shakes his head. "No, we didn't tell her… didn't think it'd be something she needed to know, I guess."

"It's not," Emmett says, his eyes drifting over all three of us. "This isn't either. I mean, I guess, someday when I get serious about someone else, she'll have to know, but for now..." A thought seems to enter his head, and his face crumples a little. "Or I guess, if she ever gets serious about anyone herself…"

I look to Edward for what to do, because I'm bad with handling Emmett lately, what with all his _feelings_. Luckily, Edward is pretty good. "She's not in that place yet, Em. And frankly? I don't think you are either."

Emmett's eyes shift guiltily back to us. "I don't know if I am. But… it's the only thing I can do to actually make myself realize that we're done. I'll be good this time. Better. Stronger."

"Harder, faster?" I finish for him. I scoff a little. "Emmett, those aren't emotions. That's a Daft Punk song."

He laughs, and it's such a relief to see Emmett be some degree of that affable, cheery guy he was before the break up that both Edward and I let it go.

"So what's she like?" Alice asks. God bless her. She sounds genuinely happy for him.

"Ehh." He shrugs. "Just this girl I met at the gym. She's pretty, kind of. Nice." He frowns a little. "Kind of."

"Wow," Alice says, sarcastically. "I wonder what you say about us to other people."

"No way. You guys are my best friends. I'd never talk shit about you," Emmett insists.

Edward snorts. "What about the first few weeks when you met Al and you called her 'Phalice?'"

I frown. "Why would you call her that?"

"Emmett thought it was a clever play on the word 'phallus'," Edward explains.

I turn to Emmett. "My, what large wit you have!"

"All the better to impress you with, my dear," he retorts.

"I was being sarcastic," I inform him.

"And I was ignoring it," he replies, glibly. "I thought it was a rather accurate, yet hilarious, play on words, considering Alice is just about the size of my phallus." Emmett shoots Alice a lascivious grin as she attempts to pretend to gag and look outraged at the same time.

"Yes, she is pretty tiny," I retort. Emmett pulls a face and we all laugh, even Alice, who is willing to let go of the slight on her height. It feels good to have this relaxed ease among us again, but it also makes me sad because I know that it may never be like this for all six of us.

Suddenly, Edward cracks up. We all look at him and he says, "Sorry man, I'm just thinking about that poor girl. She's going to be scarred for life."

"What about me?" Emmett asks. "I had to go buy her a new pair of shoes. I don't think I'll ever recover from having to walk into a store and ask for size eleven Uggs!" Edward laughs even harder and I can't help but join in.

"Size eleven?" Alice asks. "Who'd you go on a date with? Big Foot?"

"The sales clerk thought they were for me! He told me camel wasn't my color," Emmett grumbles, and we just laugh harder.

I think back to almost two years ago, when he and Rose first started dating. They were all giggles and smiles. In a strange way, them being a couple actually solidified us as a group of friends; Rose, Edward and I had already known each other for years by then, and she'd been living with Alice for a while. She'd met Emmett through Edward, who knew him in college. When they started dating, Emmett had brought along Jasper, his roommate, and voila. Some of the best times of my life.

That's how it always starts—I've seen it with my mom, I've seen it with Rose and Em, hell, I've seen it in myself, in my last relationship (which granted was awhile ago.) It's so happy at first, until you're on your third divorce, or your heart and your friends are in shambles. Or, if you're me, until you get drunk and try and deal with your feelings through booze, and regrettably, karaoke.

I can laugh at it now, but the degree of patheticness in my actions the night after I broke up with my first (and only, if I think about it, so I don't) real boyfriend shows how heartbroken I was: I sang "Total Eclipse of the Heart" four times, got kicked out of the bar for insisting they let me sing it a fifth time, asked Rose to go lesbian with me, and had to be carried home by Edward. That was also the second time he had ever met me.

I sit back in my chair, letting the others carry on a conversation while I overthink. Our whole group use to be a cohesive whole, as opposed to these fractured, intertwining alliances. In fact, Emmett and Rosalie used to be great friends, almost as good as Edward and me. It's better now, but for awhile just after they broke up, the two of them couldn't even be in the same room together. This is why what Edward and I did on Sunday is so dangerous and why—

And then suddenly, all the thoughts in my head crumble to incoherent pieces as I feel Edward's finger stroke mine softly where our hands are lying, between our chairs, obscured from anyone else's sight.

It's barely a motion, and I reason that it was probably just an accident, just him moving his hand until—

_Stroke_.

So very slow.

_Stroke_.

Just the run of the tip of his pinky down the length of mine.

_Stroke._

But definitely on purpose.

_Stroke_.

Hardly a touch, nothing compared to what we did that night but something about Edward, deliberately touching me, while ostensibly carrying on a conversation with Emmett and Alice has my heart pounding.

_Stroke_.

I feel ridiculous, like everyone in the vicinity knows exactly what's going on, that they can all see that I'm so pathetically attracted to this man and repressing it so badly that even the touch of his hand is making me fall to pieces a little. I'd say I really need to get some, but I'm pretty sure that's what got me in the mess in the first place.

_Stro_—

His phone beeps, and his finger pulls away mid-stroke. I am desperate for him to finish that last sweep from top to bottom, and I don't even know why.

He types something quickly and puts his phone away, but doesn't bring his hand back, chatting away with Em and Al as if nothing has happened. Nothing has, really, just the few rubs of his littlest finger against my littlest one. But I feel like steam, hot and not solid, and the absolute, undeniable truth hits me.

It's definitely too late to go back to what we were. If only I knew where to go from here.

* * *

**americnxidiot** fixes my mistakes, puts up with me and leaves me ridiculous notes that reference everything from Friends to Fantasia Barino. It's awesome.

Also wonderful? _Kassiah_, who is hosting a readalong for this story this Friday, Feb 25th at 9pm CST/10 EST. You don't have to follow me on Twitter to participate but uh… you should anyway (whatsmynom). I'm going to try and post another chapter tomorrow in time for it :)

You guys are the best. Tell me what you think about this Edward or this story or life, even. I like hearing what you have to say.


	4. Chapter 4

**The Best I Ever Had**

**4.**

"Porky Ashford," Edward says, when we're at the bar later that evening.

"I'll give it a five out of ten," Alice says. "Mine would be Sparky Pinkston."

"Meh," I reply. "That's not great."

She shrugs. "Six out of ten."

"So wait," Jasper clarifies. "You take your first pet and the name of the street you live on now? That's your porn name?" I nod. "How do you know this?"

I scoff. "Everyone knows this! It's like the first thing you learn in college."

"I'm sorry, I think the first thing _I_ learned in college was biology," Jasper comments.

"Whatever. This is a science, too."

"No, it's not," Alice says, seriously. "It's an art." We high five.

"I still think Porky Ashford is an excellent porn name," Edward insists.

"Would you watch a porno with a guy named Porky in it?" Alice asks.

Edward shudders. "Would I watch a porno with a guy in it?"

"Ugh, can we _not_ talk about my brother's sexual proclivities, please?" Rosalie asks before breaking into the signature Cullen smirk. "No matter what they may be?"

Edward tries to look offended as Alice continues, "Maybe you would, E. I don't know what you're into."

"Well, just ask—" Edward stops short, and I realize what he was going to say: "Just ask Bella."

Trying to skip past his near-mistake as quickly as possible, I divert the conversation back. "Mine would be… Ringo Rossdale."

"Well, the alliteration is very porn star-y," Jasper says. "But the 'Ringo' might be confusing."

"Maybe that could be your schtick, Bella," Alice suggests. "Gender ambiguity. I mean, people thought Lady Gaga had a penis for a while. Same with Jamie Lee Curtis."

"I'm pretty sure that wouldn't work for porn, Alice, since they'd have to… you know, see her genitals?" Rosalie says.

"Genitals is such a terrible term," Jasper comments, shaking his head.

Edward nods in agreement. "Every time someone says it, I picture the smooth parts on Barbie and Ken dolls."

I crack up. "Boy, this conversation degenerated quickly."

"It was a conversation that started with us finding our porn names, Bella. I don't know that it was very… um, _generated_ to start with," Rose says.

"Mine would be Barker Franklin," Jasper announces.

I make a face. "That sounds more like a president than a porn star. Rose, what's yours? Porky..."

She shakes her head. "Porky was Edward's pet. I had a cat that _hated_ him," she says, laughing. Edward shoots her a dirty look. "Mine would be..." Rosalie's eyes widen, and she cracks up. "Puss Johnson!"

"Ding ding ding!" Jasper announces. "We have a winner!"

"Wow, Rose, that's some imagination you had there," Edward says dryly. "You named your cat 'Puss'."

"You named your guinea pig 'Porky'!" she shoots back.

"It was a play on words!"

"A stupid play on words," Rosalie says snidely.

"Alright, children. Break it up, or we'll have to send you to your rooms," Alice tells them.

"You know who'd probably have the best name?" Rosalie asks. Her words are deliberate, and her eyes are darting around, but it doesn't sound in her voice when she says, "Emmett. Where is he, anyway?"

My heart twists, because I can see Rose trying to make the effort for all of us to be friends again, and yet I know that the answer to her question would probably wreck her.

Somehow, we mumble and equivocate until someone changes the topic. I excuse myself to get another drink, and as I'm waiting at the bar, I feel the warmth of a body slide very close to me. I'm about to ask the person to kindly stop invading my personal space, when I turn and see it's Edward. Suddenly, I'm not quite so upset about the invasion.

"Can I buy you your beer?" he asks.

I frown. "You came up here just to buy me a beer?"

He sighs. "No, I actually came up here to protect your virtue."

"My virtue?"

"Oh yeah. See that guy over there?" he asks, nodding at a man in the corner of the bar who is eyeing us. "I'm pretty sure he wanted some of your virtue and well… we can't have that now, can we?"

I turn and appraise the guy Edward was referring to. "He's not really my type. But I appreciate you attempting to make sure I remain virtuous—if that's even what I am—mildly chauvinistic though it may be."

"Oh, I'm not very interested in you _remaining_ virtuous," he clarifies.

"You're not?"

"See, I got a little—actually, a _lot_ I'd say—of your virtue on Sunday," he says lightly. He grins. "I really, really liked it. I'm getting kind of possessive about it, actually." I roll my eyes but break into goosebumps when his fingers brush over mine a little longer than necessary as he hands me my drink. "So, I'm going to go ahead and suggest that if you're going to give your virtue to anyone, you give it to me." He takes my elbow and leads me back to the table. Just as we are about to sit down, he says into my ear, "You know I'd know exactly what to do with it."

But I don't have time to dwell on his words, because the confrontation we all wanted to avoid slams into us anyway when Emmett walks into the bar. For a second, I can practically feel Edward, Alice, Jasper and I pray that his date ended early and he's alone.

But, no. A moment later, a tiny little brunette—basically the opposite of Rosalie—pops in behind him, and Emmett only realizes Rose is sitting with us when he's too close to our booth to turn back.

As Rose's eyes travel between Emmett and his date, and she realizes exactly where he's been, there's this moment when it feels like all the air has been sucked out of the room, like time has stopped and punched each one of us in the gut.

Then _she_ speaks. "Hi! I'm Heidi!" Over her shoulder, I can see Em cringe slightly.

She's perky. Goddamn it, she's _perky_. It's hard enough to permeate our tight group of friends, and we already have all the perk we need in Alice. If Heidi had been snarky or aloof, or even bitchy, she may have stood a chance. But, no, she's perky and… oh, she's still talking.

"Emmett's been telling me _all_ about you guys! You must be Bella"—she points at Alice—"and you must Alice."

I'm about to open my mouth to correct her when Edward slides his arm around my shoulder and says, "Alice is so pleased to meet you!" Then he slides his other arm around Alice and adds, "And Bella is, too!"

Both Alice and I glare at him.

"You must be Edward, which makes _you_—" holy hell, she squeaked on the word 'you'—" Jasper." Then she turns to Rose, and I consider drowning myself in the glass of beer in front of me. "Oh, I'm sorry. I'm Heidi, and you are…"

Rose stands up. "Leaving." Rose walks out.

I sigh as Alice gets up immediately and follows her. Emmett's face falls a bit, and I realize that this is literally my worst nightmare. I glance at Edward, and he looks even more miserable than I feel—stuck between his sister and his best friend.

I put my hand on his shoulder, and he turns to me. I jerk my head in Rose's direction, telling him silently that I'll go after her, and he squeezes my hand in thanks. I consider just walking out, but then I look at Emmett again and say, "Sorry, Heidi. It was nice to meet you but… um, I've got to go meet up with Rose and Alice."

As I hurry out, I'm pretty sure I hear her say, "But I thought _you_ were Alice."

—|—

"Ugh, Heidi," Rose says. The three of us are camped out at her and Alice's place, dissecting every nanosecond of the two-minute interaction with Emmett and public enemy number one—or Heidi, as she's more commonly known. "That's such a bitch's name."

"Rose… that's my grandma's name," Alice reminds her. Rosalie looks chastised for a second and apologizes.

"Well… what was she wearing anyway?" Before either of us can answer, she continues, "And she's too short for him. How would she even kiss him?" Suddenly her hand wrenches around my sleeve. "Do you think they've kissed? Do you think they're getting serious? Is that why he brought her over there to meet you guys?"

I look frantically at Alice, because I have no idea how to answer these questions. I'd almost rather have Rose bash the poor girl—at least that's harmless, since it's pure jealousy and ranting. This is her getting much closer to a breakdown.

Abruptly, Rose stands up and says, "Fuck it. I need Bruce." She walks over to the DVD tower in the corner of the living room and pulls out three titles, and Alice and I smile at each other behind her back. She'll get through this.

Rosalie had been my freshman year roommate, and at the beginning, I had no idea what to make of her. She was forward and fierce—before it was fashionable to be so—and she scared me. She was perfectly nice to me, but I had no idea whether we'd actually ever be friends. Then, three weeks into our freshman year, Rosalie got dumped by her boyfriend from home. I came back from class to see her huddled up with a tumbler of whisky, watching _Enter the Dragon_. That's when I knew we'd be friends.

Some girls get through break ups by eating buckets of ice cream and watching _Beaches_. Rosalie Cullen drinks Jack and watches kung fu films.

Halfway through the movie, I get a text from Edward.

_Is she okay?_

I text him back: _She will be_.

Then I think of his face back at the bar, and how small his mouth became, and how that tendon in his jaw flexed because he was so torn between staying back with Emmett and going after Rose.

_Are you okay?_ I text again.

His reply comes back a few seconds later. _Am I okay? Are YOU okay—you're asking me about my feelings._

I text back. _Haha, so I am emotionless._

He texts back, _Not emotionless. You just have a bit of an allergy to feelings. _He sends another text almost immediately. _That's the way I like you. _My heart thumps a bit as I get another one: _So you can call it emotionless, I'll call it awesome. _And then a last one, which makes me laugh. _What's the statute on the number of texts you can send in a row before you become a stalker?_

I reply, _You haven't passed it. Yet._

My phone buzzes but before I can answer it, it buzzes again and again. I receive six texts in a row, each with one word:

_Are_

_you_

_sure?_

_How_

_about_

_now?_

I laugh and text, _You're not a stalker, but you sure are annoying._

A few minutes later, I get one more message from him: _My work here is done. _Then one more. _Last one, I promise. Thanks for asking how I felt._

His last reply buzzes while the movie is paused_—_Rosalie had to go to the bathroom_—_and Alice looks at me suspiciously.

"Who are you texting?"

"No one," I say. Her eyes narrow at me. "Edward."

Her eyes narrow further until she looks like an emoticon.

"No, you're not. It's _him_. Your secret lover."

I know I should stop it right there, show Alice that the texts _are_ from Edward. But I'm more curious as to how she's figured out that I'm texting the guy I slept with so I ask her.

"You should see yourself in the mirror right now. Your eyes are all shiny, you're blushing like crazy, and you have one of those smiles that makes you look both really, really happy and also like you're about to vomit," she tells me. I hadn't realized until then that I was smiling at all. "You look like a Disney teen star."

Or maybe a beautiful tomato.

Then I realize that I was wrong before: I _do_ have emotions. And my emotions are so concerned with Edward's emotions right now, it's scares me a little.

—|—

"So how is everyone?" Kate asks as we stuff ourselves during lunch the next day. We both have excuses—she's eating for two, and I'm eating for me. Even though Kate isn't really part of our group, she's known Rose and I since college and has met Alice a couple times. She was even introduced to Garrett, her husband, by Edward, so I think she'll always have a soft spot for him.

I swallow the last bite of my pasta. "Everyone's good… well, not really. Things between Emmett and Rosalie are still really weird."

I proceed to tell her about the incidents of the previous night in all their awkward, then angry, glory.

"Wow," Kate says.

I exhale. "Sorry, didn't mean to just lay all that on you."

"No, it's tough. I get it. Makes you wish they would have had the foresight to see how it would have affected their friendship—all of your friendships—before they started dating," she says.

"Yeah," I say distractedly. My thoughts are on Edward, as they have been recently.

"And how's Edward?" she asks, as if reading my mind.

My eyes dart to her, and I wonder if she's just asking out of curiosity or because she senses something. I doubt it's the latter, but I can't help but think that maybe my face is giving away something—or maybe she's got crazy pregnancy emotion sensors.

Either way, I try to play it cool. "He's good. The same as usual. He said he's trying to get tickets for him and Garrett to a basketball game next month."

"Yeah, Garrett told me. Tell Edward I'm mad at him, by the way—I never see him! He only ever hangs out with Garrett. Though I'll probably see him at the annual company party tomorrow—Oh, God." She makes a face and rubs her belly. "I have to get through that _sober_. Tell me you'll be there?"

I laugh and nod. "Well, you might actually see Edward today. He has this thing he wanted me to look over, and he was going to pick it up during his lunch break. He knows we're eating here. He said he'd call when he was on his way."

By the time Edward shows up, Kate and I have finished our meal and have decided that we want to stop by the frozen yogurt place a few blocks down. He meets us outside, giving Kate as big of a hug as he can with her huge belly in the way.

Our walk is excruciatingly slow because the sidewalks are still lined with dangerous patches of ice. It's even worse for Kate who can't even see her feet. I'm a little charmed when Edward puts his arm around her and holds on to her tightly, walking us all the way over to the store, making sure she doesn't slip. At one point, he even gives her a little lift over a small bank of snow. His face contorts with the effort and concentration on his task, and for some reason, it really turns me on. His brow is furrowed, his lips are pressed together, his eyes look almost closed as he focuses on watching where they're going, and it's familiar, although I don't get why until I realize this face is similar to his—

_Oh!_

Or I guess it would be more appropriate to say 'O'.

And as if they were just waiting to burst through the dam, my brain is flooded with memories of what he looked like above me and below me and what he sounded like from behind me and... God, we had a lot of sex that night.

I will myself to shake off these thoughts as we reach the shop. Kate gets a seat while I stand in line to place our orders. I can't quite meet his eyes right now, and nowhere else on him is safe to look either, so I busy myself with the menu.

"You want something?" I ask Edward. I can't help but notice that he's standing right there, so close to me that if I were to bend my elbow, it would graze his stomach.

I _accidentally_ bend my elbow while flipping over the menu I'm holding.

He shakes his head hurriedly. "No, I don't have time to eat. I'm already going to be like, twenty minutes late by the time I get back to the office."

I realize that he had only come to pick up his letter—he just walked Kate and I over because he was being really nice. My heart may or may not skip a beat, and I feel a little warmer, a little proud that I know such a good man.

"Sorry. You should have told me! I would have brought it over to you," I tell him.

He shrugs. "I don't actually need it by today."

"You don't?" I ask, confused.

His eyes twinkle a little as he says, "Nah. Just wanted to see you, I guess."

I think my stomach drops, and I'm pretty sure I'm having brain freeze, even though I haven't had a bite of frozen yogurt yet.

"Oh… okay," I say, like an idiot.

He grins wider, so much his nose scrunches up a bit, and it makes him look boyish and lovely. He quickly says goodbye, squeezing my hand before he darts out the store.

When he passes by the part of the window next to where I'm standing, he knocks on it to get my attention and places his palm flat on it. Even though I'm surprised by this sentimental gesture, I place my palm on the other side of the glass.

Then he shakes his head and points at my body, mouthing "your boob", and ungracefully mimes smashing his chest against the glass to demonstrate what he wants me to do.

I roll my eyes and laugh at him as he walks away because yeah, he's a gentleman, but he's also still such a man.

When I return to the table, Kate pounces on me.

"What is going on between you and Edward?"

I reply—more dreamily than I'd like to admit—that I have no idea, and I'm telling the truth. For the most part, anyway.

—|—

_This is fucking awesome. We're kissing frantically in the hallway outside my apartment, like we're making up for the lost time we didn't spend kissing in the cab and the elevator. Like we're making up for a lot of lost time._

_You grab my keys from me and push me up against the door, bringing our mouths together again. Fuck, I love that you pushed me. Fuck fuck fuck, my mind goes blank picturing you pushing on me in different, dirtier ways. You pull away in an attempt to unlock the door, but it's my plan not to stop touching you all night—maybe ever again, you feel so good—so I kiss your neck. You tussle against me, feigning a fight but really just wriggling up on me, and God_damn_, that feels amazing, even with the metal rim of the peephole digging into my shoulder._

_Somehow—and I really don't know how, because I wouldn't have been able to do it—you get the door open and turn the doorknob without warning. You manage to brace yourself on the doorjamb, but I flail my arms and fall flat on my back into my living room with a loud groan._

_It is absurd, hilarious, stupid, everything that is the opposite of the mood that was on the other side of that door. We both crack up, because I just fell on my ass, and that's funny, no matter what the circumstances are, or how much I want to be touching you. You double over, you're laughing so hard, but you manage to step into the apartment. You reach down and, grasping both my legs in one hand, you lift them, shut the door, and then drop my legs back to the ground._

_You pounce on me, right there on my living room floor, and I can't stop laughing. You laugh with me, little tremors on your lips as you kiss my jaw, my neck, my nose, and I am so fucking happy. I think I am ecstatic—or maybe this is just ecstasy. _

_Maybe that is still to come. _

_Your fingers are rowdy and roving, sliding up and down my torso, touching and feeling and trying to tickle. I'm not ticklish, and I tell you so, but you are you, which means you are stubborn, so you just become determined to prove me wrong. Your hands move all over me, and I crack up as you poke me behind the knee, trying to see if that'll elicit a reaction. It doesn't, but that doesn't stop you. Finally, after you've touched me almost everywhere, looking for soft places, avoiding the hard ones, you twist your middle and ring fingers into my side below my ribs, and I recoil. You've found a place I never even knew was there. _

"_Ooh, found a spot!" you say, the look in your eyes mischievous and such a fucking turn on. _

_I decide then and there that I will find all your spots tonight. _

**_

* * *

_americnxidiot** is eligible for sainthood for putting up with me. She's the best. Since this is just the first half of a chapter I split up, I'm aiming for the next one on Friday, latest.

You guys are amazing. Thank you for your reviews, recs, tweets, comments or even just reading. It's fantastic.

Now let's talk about something: Mine used to be Ginger Babcock (which isn't bad). americnxidiot's would be Doggy-Doo Pine (which is _hilarious_). What would _your_ porn star name be?


	5. Chapter 5

**5.**

_Our pace has slowed down a bit—we're not cracking up or frantically making out. Now it's just slow, deep kisses with you on top of me, your tongue in my mouth, your hair in my hand, and every part of me in the palm of yours. We're still on the ground, something I forget when I roll you over. You squeak a little as my weight lands on you, so I roll back __onto__ my back. You pull your lips away from that spot behind my jaw,__ the one__ that turns me on so fucking much __that __my left leg quivers__,__ and bring your face above mine to look down at me._

"_Have you ever thought about this before?" you ask me. Your voice is out of breath and low, so it makes the words sound a little dirty, like the beginning of phone sex or something, but I know you're asking because it's important to you, so I force myself to pay attention._

"_Thought about…"_

"_This," you say, still vague. It's appropriate as that's how we're acting, even if there's nothing vague about the way you shift over me as you wait for me to answer, flexing your hips into mine. Have I ever thought about _this?

_I don't know how to answer. Yes, I have. But also, no, I haven't. I've thought of this in the way that every guy thinks about stuff like this, like when I first met you and thought you were insanely hot—you still are, and I still do, but it fades with friendship, and that urge to do things to you disappears. Of course, it rears it head again every now and then, like when you wear a shirt that's just a little too low and reminds me a little too much that you might be my friend, but you are also female, with parts that I don't have that I wouldn't mind touching. Or on some nights—like tonight—when you wear those really tight jeans, and I have the urge to lift you up and wrap your legs around me._

_But I also haven't thought about this before because you're my best friend, and those are separate fantasies where you are __still __my best friend but you're also this other girl who I touch and taste and take. Those are little infrequent ideas that exist in my head simply because they don't—_can't_—exist anywhere else._

_And then it hits me that it is existing, right here on my living room floor, and I get so hard and heady and happy when I think that in some strange way, this is my most unattainable fantasy coming to life. _

_I lean up and kiss you and say the only thing I can without sounding like a horny creep or some pathetic, lovesick jackass—neither of which I am. _

"_It doesn't matter. I'm thinking about it now."_

_Your smile says you like this answer—a lot. Then you stand up off me, and I worry that __maybe__ I've blown it until you hold your hand out, and I let you think that you're pulling me up as I stand._

_As you lead me to my bedroom, you say, "You can think about it later. You can do it now."_

_You probably don't realize it, but you've just ruined our friendship. __Fucking demolished it. After those words, I'm never not going to be able to look at you as the sexiest thing I've ever seen. _

_From now on, I'm going want you in every way you'll let me have you. _

—|—

When my intercom buzzes later that evening, and my doorman announces that Edward is on his way up, I have a brief moment of panic. I'm dressed in a sports bra and tattered old men's basketball shorts—I was planning on working out with a video until I got exhausted just watching the intro and sat on the couch eating cheese instead. I look terrible, and there's this new panic of not wanting Edward to see me like this, something I've never really felt before. I almost contemplate unlocking the door and jumping in the shower. But then I remember that time we went to the pie store downtown, and I ate more than Emmett. I'm pretty sure Rose and Alice wanted to pretend they didn't know me that day. If Edward can still look at me after _that_, he can stand this.

Still when I open the door, the weird crawling feeling in my stomach bursts into butterflies. As he steps into the apartment, he appraises my ensemble with one eyebrow raised and I feel hot. Not good-looking-hot, more like I'm-sweating-hot. But not sweaty-sexy-hot, like sweaty-gross-hot. And maybe a little hot-and-bothered-hot because damn, that eyebrow thing is really hot (attractive-hot.)

"Workout video," I say, holding up the DVD cover.

"Were you doing it or watching it?" He knows me too well.

I mumble an equivocating answer and watch as he goes to my freezer and takes out the leftover frozen yogurt from this afternoon.

"How did you know that was in there?"

He laughs. "You had 'hungry eyes' at the store."

I groan, regretting the day I ever told him about 'hungry eyes'—the name I gave my tendency to see food and want to eat it all, leading me too order way too much and always have leftovers, coincidentally—or maybe not so coincidentally—named after my favorite song from an 80s movie soundtrack.

We sit down on the couch, and he digs in the frozen yogurt as I try to watch him as surreptitiously as possible. I may have a different type of hungry eyes right now. After a few silent moments spent watching the workout video, he offers me a bite. I nod and lean toward him, but instead of handing me the spoon, he feeds it to me. As I lick it off the spoon, I watch him watching my mouth with undisguised, masculine lust. Something similar rolls right through me, but when his eyes flick up to mine, I sit back and look away before my mind can continue making correlations between what I'm doing to the fro-yo and what he has done to me.

We sit there, and I'm suddenly all too aware of my body and its proximity to his as we watch this rather masculine woman mime bad sex, demonstrating 'glut thrusts'. He drops some yogurt on his shirt, and I tell him, "You have a little something here..."

Then I watch, slack jawed and slick mouthed as he bends his neck and lifts the shirt to his mouth, licking up the spot with one flick of his tongue.

I am marveling at how I can find something as gross as him eating food off his clothes arousing when he turns and smirks at the glazed look on my face.

"Whatcha thinking about, Bella?" he asks, waggling his eyebrows.

He knows exactly what, or rather when, I am thinking about, and suddenly, the arousal and frustration and confusion hit me all at once.

"What is your deal?"

"What?"

"The flirting… two nights ago at the bar! After we… you're all… you said I looked hot… and you came all the way across town… and beautiful tomato! And my virtue! What is going on with you?" I ask, blurting any and every thought that crosses my mind until my mouth stops moving.

"I'm sorry, I don't speak gibberish. Only English. Care to repeat that?" He's smiling slyly, and I know he heard and understood exactly what I meant. I look at him with my mouth hanging open slightly, and he spoons a chunk of cold cookie dough into it.

I chew and gather my thoughts. "Since last weekend—since the thing—since we did _it_... since… you know what I'm talking about," I start, unable to bring myself to say 'since we had mind-blowing, life-altering sex'.

"No, I don't. Could you please describe it to me? In as much detail as possible. Don't leave out anything," he requests.

I sigh. This conversation won't go anywhere until I can be the rational one, which I can't do because his eyes keep flicking to my boobs, and I know he's thinking about what they looked like without any fabric covering them, and now I'm picturing his face when he saw them that night and how he swears a lot more when he's turned on and how much that turned me on... this really is not going to go anywhere until I go put a shirt on.

When I walk back into my living room more fully dressed, I stand in front of him. He stops shoveling food into his mouth and looks up at me.

"Why have you been so weird since Sunday?" I ask.

"How have I been weird?"

"How have you _not_ been weird? The flirting, the compliments, the pinkies, for God sakes, _what was with the pinkies_?" I cry, almost hysterical. I have a brief out-of-body moment where I see this crazy haired, wild eyed woman shouting at my best friend about fingers; I scare myself a little.

I'm about to apologize for being so ridiculous when Edward smiles, slightly evilly in my opinion, and says:

"You liked the pinkie thing, huh?"

I kick his foot and flop down on the couch, sighing in frustration.

"What, you thought you could just blow me off after last weekend? I'm not some random pump-and-dump chump, Bella."

"What?"

He looks at me, amused. "I'm not just another boff, then scoff deal."

"_What_?"

"I'm not someone you can just use and lose."

"Oh my god!" I exclaim. "Did you write these down or something?"

"No, I'm just a natural," he says.

"A natural idiot."

He laughs. "Yeah, I would be an idiot for falling for you."

It's one of those pseudo-insults we've always thrown at each other, because that's how Edward and I are. Except this time I'm stuck on the part where he said he was falling for me. Maybe my face drains of its color or something, because he quickly starts to speak.

"Look, Bella, I know that you're not a 'oh my god, my boyfriend', mushy romance crap kind of girl. That's okay—it's more than okay. That's why I like you. I'm not asking you to change. In fact, nothing would have to change," he says sincerely. Then slyly, he adds, "Except that we'd have amazing sex all the time."

That bubbly, confusing feeling inside of me deflates as I figure it out. The sex. No wonder he's acting like this; he just wants sex.

"So what, you want us to be fuck buddies, then?"

He looks shocked. "What? No! Why would you think that?"

"Uhhh... because you just said nothing will change, but we can sleep together. What am I supposed to be thinking?"

"You're supposed to be thinking that..." he trails off and then lets out a frustrated groan. He scrubs his face with his hand, lets out a deep breath, and looks right at me. "You're supposed to be thinking that I want to be with you."

My heart drops into my stomach, and one of these days, I'll stop being surprised that it doesn't feel bad.

"What?" I ask dazedly. He sits back and lets out a deep sigh, his head falling onto the back of the couch before he sits up straight again.

He doesn't turn toward me. "I want to be with you. And I didn't want to say anything because I knew you'd freak out but you…" He lets out a frustrated laugh. "But you didn't pick up on the million of hints I've been dropping. Instead, you chose to ask me. So I had to say it. And now you're freaking out."

"I'm not." I absolutely am, and I know he can tell, because my voice involuntarily goes up in pitch.

"Oh really? Because you don't normally sound like Prince on helium."

"Edward…" I say and, then stop so I can just look at him. For years I just saw a great guy who was a little too smug, but always really got me. Now, he's this guy who is a little smug, always gets me and also is amazing in bed and kind of insanely good looking. As I look, I notice the laugh lines on his face because he smiles so much and smirks too much. I notice how his shoulders are wide and his body is so, so long, and how despite that, he seems to know just how to move it in the most attractive way.

It's not that difficult to see him in this new light. At all. He's handsome and smart and funny. Any girl would be lucky to have him. _I'm_ so lucky have him as my friend, and all I can do is replay that scene with Rosalie and Emmett at the bar. I don't know what I'd do if that became me and Edward. "I don't know if you should do that."

"Do what?"

"Fall for me."

He smiles. "Well, then you're shit out of luck because it's already happened."

I huff. "I'm trying to have a serious conversation here!"

"And I'm trying to avoid a serious conversation! The more serious we are about this, the more likely you are to absolutely shoot me down and shut me out," he says, equally as earnest. "I'm not going to let that happen."

I make a face. "You Cullens are so pushy."

"I see your subtle attempt to segue from our conversation into my sister and Emmett's break up," he says, narrowing his eyes playfully at me. God, he really does know me too well.

"Well, you just did it better than I could have," I tell him.

"I don't know about that. You did it pretty damn well from what I remember."

I roll my eyes. "Seriously—"

"Told you I wasn't doing serious."

"Ed_ward_—"

"When has whining gotten you anywhere with me?" he asks, attempting to poke my side.

I bat his hand away. I need to tell _someone_ what I'm feeling and he's the only one I can—and probably would—tell anyway. "I don't want us to end up like Rose and Emmett."

"We won't. They aren't us."

"That's the thing—they _were_ us, and now look. They can barely be in the same room together!"

Suddenly, I can see my future in snatches: A brief fling with Edward that ruins all other men and sex with anyone—even myself—for the rest of my life; I watch work out videos without working out; I eat lots of cheese; I get cats. Eventually, even they leave, but I still smell like them, so I become an old, cheese-eating cat lady anyway. Without the cats.

That is the lowest of the low.

I think I might be losing my mind, so I force myself out of my own thoughts just in time to see Edward cock his head to one side like he always does when he's thinking about something.

"What?" I ask self-consciously.

He smiles, but I know from the way it tips at the corners of his mouth that it's the tiniest bit sad. "You're not ready for this," he says.

I want to argue—probably because it's my first instinct to argue with Edward—but I can't, because he's right. I'm not ready, and I _am_ freaking out.

"Yet," he adds. Then he smirks. "Don't worry. I'll wear you down. Win you over."

"Oh yeah?" I challenge. He's so cocky.

Part of me is a little irritated at his insistence that this is going to happen, but more of me is secretly pleased. He's right. I'm not ready, but for the first time in my life, I'm being fought for. I can't resist the idea, even if it's me he's fighting against.

He just smiles. "This is all your own fault anyway."

"What?" I ask, outraged.

"You shouldn't have slept with me, Bella," he says, lightly. "Now that I've had a taste of you—" I give him a warning look to prevent any of the comments he might make about that, but all he does is wink at me, "there's no going back. When you've finally gotten over your issues—"

"I do not have issues!"

"You definitely do, and when you've gotten over them and we're together, you'll thank me."

I glare at him. "For fighting with me?"

"For fighting _for_ you," he corrects.

"You could be wrong about this, you know."

"I'm not."

"I'm just saying you _could_ be."

"Yeah, I guess I _could_ be," he agrees and then continues, "except for the part where I'm _not_."

"Such a freaking know-it-all," I mutter.

"When you know, you know," he says mysteriously.

"What do you know?"

"Oh, I think you know what I know."

"Wouldn't I know if I knew what you know?" I ask.

"I think you know what I know, you just don't know you know."

"Huh?"

"You know I know that you know that I know that you know."

"What?"

He laughs and shrugs. "I have no idea. I just started saying stuff to mess with you."

I make a face at him and sit back.

"Hey," he says quietly, touching my hand, which rests between us. "Don't get weird on me, okay?"

"I'll try not to, " I tell him. He flips my hand over and holds it. My heart flips correspondingly, and I wish my mind was as at ease with all this as the rest of me seems to be. All of a sudden, I feel terrible. I must be giving him so many mixed signals, so much misery—

"Bella, _stop it_," he says.

I look at him. "How did you know what I was thinking?"

"I know you. Stop overthinking everything, okay? Let it play out. The only way this'll work is if you go with whatever you feel," he says.

"Well, I feel like talking about it," I tell him. He's not the only stubborn one.

He groans. "Not that. Anything but that."

"Why can't we talk about it?" I whine.

"You're freaking out just _talking_ about talking about it!" he bursts out. He takes a deep breath and smiles. "You drive me crazy, you know that?"

"Sorry," I mumble.

"Don't be. It's kind of fantastic. It's just... new to me, too. I'm going on instinct here," he says, squeezing my hand. "Look, Bella." He meets my gaze, and I have to wonder how I never noticed before how lovely and green his eyes are. "Some things you just don't talk about. Some things you do. Some things you show."

I look back at him, and I swear, the world constricts down to just me and him, looking at each other, holding hands. If it could just stay this way, we'd be perfect.

"And that's as serious as I'm going to get about this," he says, breaking into a grin. How could I not smile back? "That's as serious as I'm going to let you get."

"You're so bossy," I tell him as I slap his shoulder, and he flicks me back. We continue flicking each other, like a pair of annoying kids, and then we wind up play wrestling like a couple of flirting teenagers, and by the end of it, he's on top of me, one of my arms pinned between us, my other hand held down by him, and it feels very, _very_ grown up.

"Hmmm, Bella," he says, his voice smooth and low. "Why does this seem familiar?"

I roll my eyes but inside, I am quaking with a million different feelings, because this is bringing back memories of things we've done and making me want to do them over and over again.

Suddenly, he goes quiet and very still. His eyes flick down to my lips as he says, "It would be really, really easy to kiss you right now."

My heart starts pounding—he must feel it since he's pressed up against me, and the corners of his lips turn up when I involuntarily lick my lips. I watch as he leans closer to me, and I can't move, can't blink, can't breathe in fear that somehow I'll disturb this moment. All I can think is, whether or not I'm ready for everything else, I'm definitely ready to kiss him again.

Then, so close to my lips that I can feel the air move as he speaks, he says, "But then again, you're not ready. Wouldn't want to rush you. I mean, look at how you reacted to the pinky thing." Then he gets up.

_He gets up._

His smug smile says he knows exactly what he's doing—which is making me want him—and I just lie there, turned inside out and turned on, trying to put myself back together.

He glances at his watch. "Oh shit, I'm gonna be late for the movie. You sure you don't want to come?"

"To see _Death Squelch: Part Five_ with you and Emmett? I'd rather watch paint dry," I retort, but my voice still sounds a little too breathy.

He laughs. "I think that might actually be what Jasper's latest documentary is on, so you're in luck." He grabs his coat and heads out the door, and as I sit up, he pauses to look at me from the doorway. Even though he's not close, his expression shifts something inside of me. He looks determined and vulnerable, absolutely sure and yet, a little bit lost, all at the same time.

Then he strides back into my apartment, kisses me swiftly but softly on the cheek, and is gone before I can even comprehend what just happened.

* * *

**americnxidiot** is black playstation. she's moo thunder. she's the vanilla bear to my chocolate bear.

Because of a little reorganization/chapter splitting, this story will probably wind up being about 8 or 9 chaps in total. Hope that's cool. And I've been bad with sticking to the days I say I'll update, so I'll simply say soon.

You guys are amazing. And you have some pretty fantastic porn names. Thanks so much for the reviews, for reading and/or reccing—if you got here from a rec, let me know where? I like to say thank you.

Have thoughts about this chapter? About Bella or Edward? About fro-yo or cheese or anything at all? Lay 'em on me. I'm a little nervous about this one so I'd love to hear what you think.


	6. Chapter 6

**6.**

_You're wearing those tight type of jeans that girls with fantastic legs—like you—wear so well, and that guys who can't take their eyes off those girls or their legs—like me—love. But they're not the easiest things to take off. In fact, after a certain point, they won't go any lower, and I actually have to hop off the bed and __yank on them a little because they seem to be caught around your ankles. _

_You take your shirt off just as I get your pants off and… wow. _

_Holy fuck. _

_You're lying on my bed in nothing but your underwear. You're not the first girl I've seen like this, but right now, I can't seem to recall any of the others. At the sight of your breasts, my brain seems to run away __from me__ only to come back __to__ ask a million more questions, all breast-related of course. Does __this__ mean you don't wear bras often? Have I been around you, at the bar or the coffee shop, sitting next to you, completely oblivious to the fact that you're not wearing a bra? Have you hugged me braless? Because holy shit, that may be the hottest thing in the world. _

_I pull myself out of my thoughts and my head out of my ass and correct myself; it's the second hottest thing in the world, the first being that you are lying on my bed in nothing but your underwear. _

_I can't really form words, but my thoughts are racing: _

_That hollow in your collarbone._

_The curve where your hips turn into your ass._

_The curve where your chest becomes your breasts._

_Your breasts._

_Your nipples. _

_Your belly button. _

_That fucking tease of a bow at the top of your underwear._

_Everything underneath that bow. _

_These are all the places I want to touch. These are all the places I'm _going_ to touch, because you're lying on my bed in nothing but your underwear…_

…_And I'm standing here like a moron. I slip my shirt and pants off and you watch me, not even bothering to pretend that you're not. You've never looked at me like this, and I like the feeling of your eyes on me. I like being admired by you. I like knowing that you want me as much as I want you. _

_Then, as if we both are sharing the same thought, we pause. Because this is it. _

_Two pieces of clothing, and we're naked. _

_—|__—_

"Bella, call for you. I'm transferring it," my co-worker Angela says. "It's _Edward_."

I roll my eyes as I pick up the phone. I would love to take a deep breath, maybe center myself a bit as I haven't had a chance to talk to Edward since his confession last night, but I sit in a half cubicle at the realty office where I work, and Angela will notice if I hesitate on a call from Edward. I mean, in the three years we've worked together, Edward has probably called me more than a thousand times, and I've never once hesitated. It would raise questions that I not only don't want to answer, but at this point, I don't even know _how_ to answer.

"Hey."

"Hey."

"You've really got to remember that my extension changed. Every time you call Angela, she transfers it to me and says your name like she's having a stroke," I say. Angela sticks her tongue out at me.

Edward laughs. "I believe that's called a swoon." Cocky ass.

I tell Angela what he said, hoping she'll refute it. Instead she says, "Yes, I'm definitely swooning." Then, she raises her voice a bit and calls out, "Edward, you're dreamy."

"Hear that?" he says to me. "Dreamy. Take notes, Bella. You missed this class the first time it was taught."

"I dropped it because the professor was an idiot."

"Lies. You were kicked out because you didn't have the prerequisites."

"I'm sick of this metaphor."

"Me too. Let's move on."

"Let's."

I wait for the inevitable awkwardness to seep in between us, but it never does. Instead he just says, "So we still on for tonight?"

Months ago, before any of this stuff happened, Edward asked me to go with him to this annual party held by the marketing company he started working for last year as his plus-one. Back then it was just me going with him so we could watch his bosses get drunk off the open bar—and maybe do the same ourselves. But after last night, it feels more like a date, where I dress up and he introduces me to everyone that is professionally important to him. The idea makes me very, very nervous.

So naturally, I joke about it. "Yeah, I guess. Since I'm being dragged to it."

He chuckles. "Who knows? It may be fun. Maybe the man of your dreams will be there."

I wish he could see me roll my eyes over the phone. "You think?"

"Yeah, sure. He'll be wearing that tie you gave him for his birthday two years ago."

"You are? I love that tie!"

We chatter on long enough to remind me that this is Edward, my best friend, and no matter where we go or who we're around, he's made it clear _that_ doesn't have to change.

Still, when I walk up to him at the party, I'm kind of nervous. I don't have butterflies—maybe just butter_fly_, one big schizophrenic one that flutters around, half excited, half scared shitless.

"Edward, there's a pretty young woman standing behind you, waiting for your attention, I think. If you're not claiming her, then I just might have to," says Edward's boss, Marcus, whom I've met a couple times. I grin at him over Edward's shoulder.

Edward turns around and gives me the strangest smile I've ever gotten from him. He slips his arm around me and pulls me into the circle of people, saying so quietly that only I can hear him, "No, she's mine." He introduces me to each person with no description of who I am to him, just my name. His deliberate ambiguity despite the questions in people's eyes touches me. Proving yet again how well he knows me, he hasn't declared me as 'Edward's girlfriend' or as 'Edward's friend', but simply as Edward's. I discover that I'm more than just okay with that.

He excuses us from the group so we can get me a drink but doesn't move his hand away from my waist as we walk over.

My eyes keep flicking to it but he doesn't notice as he says hello and smiles at his co-workers. I poke him in the shoulder, and when he turns to me, I look pointedly at his hand—which, if I'm not mistaken, has slipped a little lower.

"What?" he asks me.

"Your hand?"

"Is very comfortable, thank you," he says, grinning. I roll my eyes but don't ask him to move it.

I may like it there.

At the bar, we run into Garrett, whom I haven't seen in awhile. One hug, and I realize that he is very, very drunk.

"Been hitting the booze, Gar?" I ask.

He grins. "Let me teach you a little something, Swan," he says, putting his arm around me and pulling me away from Edward. He's slurring his words ever so slightly. "When a corporate company puts an open bar at their party, it's like a duty. If I didn't drink as much as I could from that bar, I wouldn't be living up to my potential. I'd be a bad employee."

I laugh. "Whatever you say."

"So…"

"Yes, Garrett?" I ask.

"My wife, who is currently in the bathroom," he says, randomly. "My lovely Kate."

"I'm familiar with her," I tell him.

"She'd kill me if she knew what I was doing, but I have to ask," Garrett says. "Tell me the truth. You guys make it official yet? Finally put a label on it?"

"I hate labels," I say, trying to avoid his question. My heart starts pounding a little and I want to sneak a look at Edward, but without Garrett to catch me doing it. It makes sense not to say anything to Rose or Alice, but it would be so easy for him to say something, say anything about us to Garrett, especially since he's been prompted.

But I really should learn not to discount Edward.

"I hate labels, too. They always get stuck to your fingers," he deadpans.

"And then when you try and take them off, they get stuck to themselves," I say, catching on.

"Absolutely. And don't even get me started on printing on them!"

"Thank god you have a secretary!" We both grin like the smug, annoying idiots we are as Garrett glares at us.

"Ha ha ha. By the way, the pc term nowadays is 'executive assistant'." I'm just about to be relieved that he's dropped the subject when Garrett turns to me and asks, "Seriously, are you his girlfriend?"

I turn to Edward. "I don't know," I say, loftily. "What _is_ a girlfriend?"

"I'm going to go out on a limb and say…" Edward mimics my airy tone perfectly. "It's a girl who is a friend."

"Well, then! I've been your girl friend for _years_!"

"You got that right," Garrett mutters. I shoot him a dirty look.

"I am seriously going to punch you." But it's not Edward or I who say that—it's Kate, who has returned from the bathroom. "Drunken fool."

"What'd I do?" Garrett asks, trying to look innocent. He's drunk, however, so his current expressions range from looking drunk to looking very drunk.

"You got wasted!" she replies hotly. "And I can't!"

"But baby—"

"Don't you 'baby' me," she cuts him off and swats his arm away when he tries to touch her cheek.

He slips his arms around her and gently pats her belly. "But I already did baby you." Kate rolls her eyes, but it's easy to see that she's absolutely melted. I take Edward's arm and we excuse ourselves as discreetly as possible. We stand in the corner of the room next to each other, watching as Edward's bosses makes fools of themselves, embarrass their spouses, and participate in what could be considered sexual harassment if they weren't all so drunk.

"Garrett is such a sucker," I comment, laughing.

Edward doesn't say anything, so I look at him.

"What?" I ask.

"I don't know."

"You don't know?"

"I mean, he is. He's totally whipped, but he's happy, right? He _wants_ to be whipped, so… good for him, I guess," Edward says, still staring out in front of him.

I turn my head to look at him and smile. "Oh my god. Edward Cullen is a romantic."

He shrugs, his gaze still on the party. "Don't sound so surprised."

I'm more surprised that he admits to it so easily. "I just never knew you were such a softie."

"Oh, but Bella," he says, turning to face me. He talks my hand and places it high on his abdomen. "I think you know just how hard I am," he says. Suddenly, he breaks into a bright, pleased smile. "I didn't even realize that was going to be dirty until I said it!"

I laugh and try to pull my hand back, but he holds it there, and I can actually feel the muscles through his suit. He arches his eyebrow at me, and I feign a look of exasperation, but all I'm thinking is _one of us has been working out and it's not the couch-sitting, cheese eater_. I try to tug my hand away, but he holds it there.

"What are you doing, Edward?" I ask, but I'm smiling just as wide as he is.

"I don't know," he says. His eyes are twinkling with mirth. "I have no idea, but I really, really like it."

He's so tall right now—or logically, always, but I'm noticing it even more as he looks down at me. It makes me feel feminine—not delicate, because that's not what I am, just… adored. We just stand there for a few moments, grinning like idiots at each other. When he finally lets go, it takes me a few seconds to pull my hand away.

The party rages on, with bosses getting drunker and antics getting rowdier. It's apparent that Edward is a bit of a golden boy from the amount of people who want his attention. There's sort of a strange moment when I'm at the bar without him, and I look up, and right next to me is one of Edward's co-workers—who also happens to be his Carrie Underwood-doppelganger of an ex, Tanya.

"Tanya! Hi!" I say, not unfriendly because she and I always got along—unlike that psycho Jane, who hated me with the passive aggressiveness of a dull knife. She jabbed at me all the time never really cutting too deep but poking enough to really annoy me.

Tanya breaks out into a wide, gorgeous smile, and I wonder, shallowly, why she's in marketing and not modeling.

"Bella!" she exclaims happily. She really should be on one of those reality shows, being yelled at by Tyra Banks. "Came here with Edward, I see."

The knowing tone in her voice makes me want to correct her, even if she isn't completely wrong.

"I didn't—"

"Shhh!" she says, eyes widening. "You're ruining it! This is the supposed to be the part where there's an awkward silence during which it becomes clear that I'm still _desperately_"—she lolls her head around to emphasize the word—"in love with Edward."

"Ohhhh!" I say. "Alright." We stand in silence, fighting smiles.

After a few seconds, Tanya says, "That should do it."

"Okay, what next?" I ask.

"I tell you that you'll never be woman enough for him."

"Okay, lay it on me."

Raising her pitch—but not her voice—several notches, she says hysterically, "You'll never be woman enough for him."

"Then I say," I begin and get my best bitch bark. "You need to face the truth, you washed up old hag. He doesn't want you. Why would he when he has me?"

"Oh, very good!" she admires, nodding.

"Then I throw my drink in your face—"

"Can we just mime that? This is a fantastic dress," she requests. I nod.

"Then you slap me—please mime _that_."

She grins. "Some hair-pulling—"

"Two big masculine men have to tear us apart—"

"And scene."

We laugh and she says, "How are Rosalie and Emmett?" I remember that Tanya knows Rose because they belonged to the same beautiful people's torture club—or the gym, as others call it.

I shrug. "They're both good, but um, not together anymore," I add awkwardly.

"What? What happened?"

I shrug. "Just wanted different things? She wants to get her MBA, he wanted to settle down, maybe get married, and it just got worse and worse."

"Oh, that's so sad! They were a lovely couple. And your other friends? Alice and Jasper?"

"Oh, they were never together," I tell her.

"Really? I mean, I knew they weren't while Edward and I were dating, but I sort of thought they'd wind up together."

I laugh—mostly at the idea of Alice and Jasper, which is ludicrous—and shake my head.

"What about you? Are you here with someone?"

She grins. "Nope. Just trying to win Edward back," she jokes, smoothing a hand down the front of her dress.

I laugh and then stop when I realize that I may have given her the wrong impression. I'm about to say we're not together, but that's beginning to feel more and more like a lie. Even if we're not together, we're not apart either, just in this limbo till I can get my head and heart in the same place.

Before I can get my thoughts in order though, she spies someone she knows and with a warm smile and a goodbye, heads over to them.

"What was that?" Edward asks, when I head over to him.

I shrug. "Just your average catfight."

"Over what?" he asks, waggling his eyebrows.

I roll my eyes. "Like I'm going to stroke your ego more."

"You can stroke any part of me you want, Bella," he jokes. I give him a scathing look. "What? I meant my_ heart_."

"Sure."

"Can't help it if you're a pervert," he says. Then he asks, "You want to dance?"

I raise my eyebrows. "Do _you_ want to dance?"

He shrugs. "Dancing seemed like one of those things a charming gentleman would do. But if I you know, you'd rather just sit in the corner and make fun of people."

He's right, of course. I would, but I realize that I must be awfully predictable since Edward seems to know me so, so well. I decide to surprise him.

"I _would_ like to dance," I say.

He looks at me for a second, as if he can't believe I said that, before grinning broadly and pulling me to the dance floor. Someone must have gotten sick of seeing upper-level management try to 'break it down', as one of Edward's supervisors put it (air quotes and everything), so they've tempered the music to something a little slower. It's not sentimental though, which I'm glad for as I discover something:

Edward can dance.

I mean, I don't know if he can bust a move or anything, but in the general sense of swaying our bodies in rhythm, moving his feet just when he needs to, and tucking my body close enough to be intimate but not indecent, he can dance. I can't help but lean into him, resting my nose on his shoulder and watching the room over it. I notice several people staring at us—or more precisely, him and then me, and I see what I saw at the bar a few nights ago, that question of _are they together?_ Only this time, it's answered with a definitive _yes, they are_. That immediate understanding freaks me out a little, but it also makes me feel undeniably special, too.

Pulling me out of my thoughts, Edward says, "Look at you, you little peacock."

"What?" I pull away slightly to look at him.

"You're being a peacock right now."

"Make sense, please?" I request.

"Male peacocks raise their tails to show them off when they want to attract a mate."

"I'm showing off to attract a mate?" I ask, confused. My uncontrollable thoughts go _but you already have a mate!_ which is ridiculous, since the word mate makes me think of zoo animals.

"The metaphor isn't perfect," he huffs. "I just meant, you're showing _me_ off. That we're here together. We are a bird, and I am your tail-feathers. You are the pea and I am the cock."

"They're called plumes."

"Fine. I'm the still the cock."

I laugh mostly because I don't know what else to do. Mixed in with his spot-on assessment is all this crazy. But cock or cocky, whichever one he is, he's undeniably right. This is the first place that Edward and I have ever been an "us", and other issues aside, it is a monumentally nice thing to be.

We dance in silence for a few moments, and I think that I could get used to this feeling, of being so close to him, of his hair brushing my ear, of his nose tucked into my neck and his warmth breath sliding down my back.

"You know this is going to happen," Edward mumbles into my ear, as if reading my thoughts. "It's just a matter of time, Bella."

"You know the more you say that, the more you're kind of niggling at my tendency to be contrary for the sake of it," I reply, but I rest my head on his chest as I say it.

He chuckles. "I know. I was just hoping for the power of positive thinking."

"What, you didn't want to try reverse psychology?"

"Nah, that'd never work. I'd have to stay away from you, and frankly," he pulls me even closer, "I'm having trouble staying even this far."

We've touched, we've hugged—hell, he's had to carry me home on occasions—but for the first time, as I tighten my arms around him in response to his irresistibly sweet words, I hold Edward.

It feels lovely.

_—|__—_

What at one point felt like a night that would never end does so quickly, and before I know it, Edward and I are in a cab on our way home. He's bugging me—as usual. The only difference is, though I outwardly protest, because it is in my nature to do so, I'm enjoying it a little. A lot, maybe.

"You keep acting like us being together is going to change the whole world," he observes.

"Isn't it?" It's going to change my world, at least—it kind of already has.

"Is it?"

"I hate when you answer my questions with a question."

"And you'll probably still hate when I do that when we're together," he tells me.

I raise my eyebrows at him. "When?"

"When," he affirms, nodding. "The harder you fight it, the harder I'll fight you." We both frown. "Ignore that I said that. It came out way creepier than I meant it."

I laugh. "At least, you're self aware."

"Look, who is the person you talk to the most?" he asks.

"You are."

"The person you spend the most time with?"

"You."

"See?" he says. "If you think about it, in a really terrible way that makes me sound like an absolute pussy, I've pretty much been your boyfriend for years now."

"That makes no sense," I tell him, because it doesn't—we've been normal old us all these years. Then we slept together and became something new. And then he went and said all those things, so we became something newer than the new thing we had just been. So if he makes the old new, then what happens to the new? And the newest new?

Jesus, no wonder I'm confused.

"Who is the person who knows all your secrets?" he presses.

I roll my eyes. "No one. That's why they're secrets."

"Oh yeah? Who is the only person who knows that it was you who put that hole in Emmett's favorite shirt, not Alice?"

I narrow my eyes. "You are."

"Who's the first person you call if something was wrong?"

I sigh. "You are."

"And who is the person you should be having incredibly hot sex with multiple times a day?"

I start to answer without thinking. "You…"

"Could be," he says, leaning back and folding his arms, having made his point. "I could be."

I roll my eyes but can't help smiling and we lapse into a comfortable silence. For once, my mind is not going a mile-a-minute. I'm just enjoying what turned out to be a really fun night. I enjoy it even more when Edward puts his arm around me and pulls me closer. His fingers gently brush up and down the top of my arm, and as if there's some switch there, my head tilts into space between his neck and shoulder. He tilts his head too, so his cheek is resting on my hair, and we sit like that until the cab pulls up outside of my apartment building.

I stop as I open the door of the taxi, contemplating whether to invite him up—that has implications that I'm not sure I'm ready for, but I also don't want this night to end. I'm just about to speak when he groans.

"Don't." Resting his elbows on his knees, he covers his eyes with his palms and says, "Don't ask me upstairs. Because if you do, I'll come upstairs, and I think I have impulse control issues, so I'll probably kiss you, and if I kiss you, I'm not going to want to stop there, but I told myself that we wouldn't do _that_ again until we've figured out how to do _this_." He gestures between us.

I smile at his sincerity and his rambling. "Alright. I guess I'll see you Sunday at your parents' place?"

"Yeah," he says, his face face still covered. "Now if you'll excuse me, I have to go home and check if I still have a penis because I cannot believe I just did that."

I can't help but tease him after all the times he's teased me.

"Oh you know… I could check that for you upstairs."

He groans. "_Bella_."

I laugh. "I'm sorry. I know this must be… hard." I pat his leg and let my hand linger.

He shoves it away gently. "I hate you."

"Really, don't be blue. Balled."

"Get out of the cab."

I do and say, "Wet—I mean, sweet dreams, Edward." He flips me off as I close the door. I may not be as good at it as him, but in the face this new and relentless charm, I've got to fight back as much as I can. That's the fun of it.

_—|__—_

The next afternoon, I get a call from Edward. He and Rose are already back at their parents' place to spend the long weekend there. The rest of us are going to drive up in the morning and drive back down in the evening since Emmett and Jasper have to work.

"So I realized I made a big mistake last night," he says.

"You did?"

"Oh yes. Big mistake. Huge."

I laugh. "You just quoted _Pretty Woman_."

He sighs. "I know. Rose and Mom are watching it in the living room right now. Don't tell anyone, okay?"

"It's okay, Edward. You're _my_ pretty woman," I tell him.

"I'll ignore the fact that you may have just implied I'm a hooker as it's a pretty convenient segue since the thing I did wrong last night was forgetting tell you how beautiful you looked."

All the air and teasing sweeps out of me. "I did?" I ask without really meaning to.

"Absolutely. You looked fucking fantastic. I—hell, _everyone_—noticed. I was a moron and forgot to tell you that, but you should know, it was all I was thinking."

I have no idea what to say so I go with nothing.

"Bella? You still there?"

I nod.

"Bella?" he sounds a little more worried, and I realize I'm an idiot, because he can't see me.

"I'm here. I'm still here," I croak out.

"Good." He pauses before he continues. "I thought I might have scared you away."

I can hear the fear in his voice, and it's so foreign—I know he has insecurities just like everyone else, but he wears his confidence so well that it's strange to be faced with it. It breaks my heart a little that he's worried about _us_, because through this all, whatever we may be, I've never doubted that he's always there for me.

"I'm not that bad, am I?" I ask.

He chuckles. "You're not bad at all. Just easily spooked."

"Whatever. I got in a catfight with Tanya over you!" I joke. "What more do you want with me?"

"Oh, not too much," he replies, lightly. "Only everything."

_—|—_

_My heart is actually pounding, and I'm a little nervous because I don't know how many friends have seen each other naked, but we certainly haven't. We look at each other, you lying on the bed, me standing next to it, and I think the look on your face must match mine perfectly._

"_So."_

"_So."_

_Then almost like we've counted to three, we both break into grins. I slip my boxers off, and you reciprocate, and then all of a sudden, I can say that I've seen Bella Swan naked__. _

_And it is fucking glorious._

You_ are fucking glorious._

_We stand there for a few moments, just looking, because friends do a lot of things, but friends never get to look. You're not perfect, but getting to see all of you kind of is. __You are, by far, the best thing that has ever been in my bed._

_You shift a little, maybe getting uncomfortable under my scrutiny, and say, "Edward, I'm not a museum."_

"_Huh?" I ask, like a dumbass._

"_There's no 'look but don't touch' rule," you tell me, that sexy little smile spreading, and I dive at you, practically tackling you, making you squeal. As you shriek and giggle and sound as happy as I feel, I cover you in sloppy kisses, all over your neck, your chest, your breasts. I'm not even trying to be smooth or sexy, I'm just touching you on all this new skin I've found, because friends do a lot of things, but friends never get to touch._

_Then I put my lips on one of those places I wanted to, the one that's pink and perfect and seems like it's pointing at me, and you gasp. It's a brand new noise from you, and it is fucking amazing. I repeat the action, this time with my tongue, and you gasp again, and your body shifts, making me wonder what ways I can touch you to make other noises, make your body __do__ other things. I can make you gasp if I do this__. Can__ I make you sigh if I do this there? Can I make you swear if I do that? Make your back arch and your skin sweat and make you shake and scream if I keep on doing it? _

_It occurs to me that hearing your noises, touching you in parts that you don't show, wanting you under, over, around me__—__that may be finally crossing the line. We're not friends anymore. The thought makes me incredibly sad so I amend it. _

_Maybe we're friends, and maybe we're also becoming so much more._

* * *

Remember when I said the chapters would be 1-3K? Oops.

**americnxidiot** is an umbrella-kissing wonderbeta and one of my favorite people.

A couple people have asked about my other wip, _Once More, With Feeling_. It is absolutely still being continued—I'm trying to write all the remaining chapters (there's about 3-4) and then post once a week till it's done.

You guys are _amazing_. No really, I don't know how to tell you how much I appreciate your reviews and recs, your tweets and messages, or the fact that you're reading this silly little story at all. Your reviews are my happy place.

Lastly, I know there's a lot going on in the world right now. Wherever you are, I hope you are safe and happy :)


	7. Chapter 7

**7.**

_I think I know from the second I move into you that this might be the best thing in the world._

_Turns out, it's better than I ever could have imagined._

—|—

"I really think that this is a bad idea," Emmett whines as we step onto the front porch. I really want to go inside; even though it just a bit after noon, it feels way colder upstate where Edward and Rosalie's parents live than it does in the city.

I punch him lightly in the shoulder. "Would you like some cheese with that whine? You've been saying that for the entire ride up here."

"That's because I really, really think this is a bad idea," he repeats. "Especially after the other day."

I give trying to cheer him up at this point, but it's okay, because Jasper takes up the reins.

"Look, Emmett, I get that it is weird for you being here. But Edward invited you here—and he's run it by Rose, so she's okay with it, too."

"Yeah, but what about the Cullens? What do I say to them? 'Sorry your daughter and I didn't work out, but hey! Here I am at your anniversary party anyway!'"

"Actually, I'd just go with 'hello'," I advise.

He glares at me.

"Just stick by Edward," Alice says. Dammit, that was my plan. "He loves his family, but they exhaust him. He'll be glad for the company."

Jasper rings the doorbell, and we are ushered in by one of Edward's aunts. I can't remember which one, but she can't remember who we are either, so it works out. We shrug out of our coats and jackets and leave the giant foyer into the Cullens' even more impressive living room. About fifty people with hair in various shades of grey, chestnut, and blonde are milling about, and I can't see through them to find the one stupid, bronze-haired person I want to see.

Then, like the Red Sea, the people part and through the middle comes Esmoses. She greets us all with hugs and tells Emmett that she made his favorite meal the previous night and saved some for him in a Tupperware in the fridge. The grin he gives her shows that her words have put him more at ease than ours ever could, and I love her a little more for it.

As the four of us get drinks—tended at the bar by Carlisle's cousin, Alec, who makes the soda in Emmett's scotch and soda seem like a garnish—we look around the large living room. Alice and Jasper get pulled away by crazy Aunt Jane, but Em and I resist.

He elbows me and points out Edward and Rosalie in conversation with the Mallorys, their neighbors. From the way Rosalie is flapping her arms, I'm guessing she's telling the story of how Edward was Chicken Little in the seventh grade play because he was the shortest boy in his grade till his senior year of high school. He responds by moving his hands so he looks like he's playing piano while having a seizure—clearly telling them about how Rosalie "played" the xylophone till she was eighteen.

Emmett sighs so wistfully that I slip my arm around his waist and squeeze him tight.

"Stupid Cullens," he mutters. I look at him questioningly. "That's right. I said it. Stupid Cullens with their stupid sons being good friends and making sure that I come to their stupid parties, and their moms making stupid, awesome lasagna for me, and their stupid daughters whom I just can't get over. The freaking Cullens are ruining my life!"

He ends his words dramatically but with such a good-natured grin that I am suddenly seized with the urge to tell him that the stupid Cullens are ruining my life too, albeit in different, rather nice ways.

Instead I say, "They do get under your skin."

I can't seem to take my eyes off Edward while I say this, but it's okay because Emmett hasn't taken his eyes off Rose either. Maybe they feel the weight of our stares or the longing in them—well, Emmett's... okay, mine too—because Rose sees us, and she and Edward excuse themselves from the conversation, walking up to us.

Rose and I hug as Edward and Emmett do their version of one, made oh-so masculine by handshakes and slaps on the back. There's a brief moment where all four of us pause, but Rose, in that wonderful grace she has inherited from Esme, smiles widely and greets Emmett with a hug, telling him that she's glad he made it up. She asks him if he'd like another drink—apparently, in his nervousness, he'd downed the last one—and they go off, leaving me and Edward alone. Well, alone as we can be in the middle of about fifty people, most of whom are his family.

"Hey."

"What, I don't get a hug?" he asks, pretending to be offended.

I roll my eyes and smile at him. "You get a hug."

I hold my arms open, and when he steps into them, I wrap them around him. This greeting is perfectly appropriate for good friends seeing each other after a short period, but it feels incomplete, feels like less than what I should be doing. I realize that the urge to kiss him from a few days ago—or if I'm being really honest, from last weekend—is getting stronger and stronger.

Whether Edward senses this or acts on his own, I'll never know. What I do know is how I shiver deliciously when he tucks his face into the side of my neck, and quietly says, "Hi."

To anyone else, it looks like a very warm hug, but I can feel only searing heat all over me as he drags his lips along my neck as we pull away.

There's a moment when the din in the room is muted and all I can see is the fire in his eyes. Even if he'd never said a word, never let a touch linger longer than necessary, never put a toe over the line of friendship, that look would tell me all I need to know about how he feels.

And the sweet buzzing low in my belly tells me all I need to know about how I feel.

—|—

_Watching you come for the first time is like an experience. You're better than any statue, any painting, any fucking __national treasure. You're better than any of the words I can use to describe it. No memory I'll have of it will be as good, so while I have you here, in my bed and on me, I'm just going __to have to keep on making it happen._

—|—

The moment is broken when someone calls from behind Edward, "Oh my god! Class play pictures!" His eyes widen, and he bolts over to them, leaving me laughing in his wake. The afternoon seems to stretch on endlessly, a parade of Cullen after Cullen, then an Evenson or two, engaging us in the same four questions, while we give the same four answers back. Amongst the grown-ups—because I still refuse to believe me or any of my friends are grown-ups yet—I spy a handsome and familiar face.

"Hey kiddo," Carlisle says.

"Hello," I reply. He gives me a warm hug, and we stand next to each other, his arm around my shoulders as we survey the rest of the party.

"Happy 'everyone said you married too young, but you showed them' day," I tell him. He laughs.

"Thanks, kid. How are you?"

"I'm good. Your children are driving me crazy, though."

He grins good-naturedly at me. "Clearly they're being what I raised them to be: gigantic pains in the ass. How is Rosie, anyway? She won't really talk about it, but Emmett's here, so it can't be that bad," he observes.

"It is and it isn't. He had a date this week. She freaked," I tell him.

"My poor, silly girl. Never knows what she wants."

"That's an affliction not limited to your daughter," I admit.

"Et tu, Bella?" This is what I love about Carlisle. Without ever asking or receiving a single concrete detail about my life, he's been able to read me like a book since I was a freshman in college.

"Et moi," I say, sighing. "Not your son though. He's got the focus of a sniper rifle."

Carlisle laughs. "And all the recoil of one, too. He bothering you too much? I'll set him straight—I didn't raise him to besmirch my name and waste my good genes, y'know."

"Nah," I say. "He's okay." Better than okay, but his father doesn't need to know that. "Not as great as his old man."

"Then again, who is?" Carlisle asks.

I laugh. "Too true."

"Speaking of, how is _your _old man? It was lovely having you and Charlie here for Christmas."

"It was. Dad's good... just working. I'm thinking I'm going to go visit him soon. Try and convince him to move closer to me again."

"Good girl. And remind him that he doesn't have to retire—Esme's dad was a district attorney, so she's got plenty of connections. He can do his five-o thing over here."

"Five-o? You really are an old man," I tell him.

"Had to happen sometime. Don't tell the wife," he says, nodding to where Esme is, as always, the life of the party, somehow holding three conversations at once while refreshing her drink while handing out some homemade hors d'oeuvres. He sighs exaggeratedly. "Do me a favor?"

"Sure."

"I can't get trashed at this thing, but I need to live vicariously through you," Carlisle tells me.

"Pssh. Like you even had to ask," I say.

"If I didn't have to ask, why is your glass empty?"

"Fixing that now," I say and leave him to go over the bar. Emmett and Edward are there. Em reaches around the front of me to hit Edward's arm and motions discreetly to the Alice and Jasper and the cluster of people they're talking to about twenty feet from us.

"I can see what's happening." Emmett begins to sing in the most nasal voice imaginable. I don't even recognize the song until—

"What?" Edward pipes up, in a silly, throaty voice.

"And they don't have a clue!" Em turns to Edward and cocks his head to one side.

"Who?" Edward replies and cocks his head in the opposite direction, matching Emmett. The people immediately around us are staring a bit and but god forbid the clowns don't have their moment.

"They'll fall in love—" Okay, now Emmett's reaching his crescendo. "And heeeeere's the bottom line…"

"Our trio's down to two," Edward finishes.

I look at them both like they're out of their minds, which is fitting.

"What the hell?"

Edward jerks his chin to where Jasper and Alice are talking to one of his aunts, or maybe his cousins. I can't tell. Plastic doesn't seem to age. "Alice and Jas."

I frown. "What about them?"

"E and I think they're going sweet on each other," Emmett says.

"What? No!" I say. Alice has never talked about Jasper differently than she has about Emmett or Edward. I tell them this.

Edward shrugs. "That may be true but I don't know… I've been getting that vibe."

"Yeah, haven't you noticed?" Emmett says. "They're always spending tons of time together—alone. Whenever I look at them, they're looking at each other and then suddenly looking away."

"I haven't noticed anything strange," I argue but then remember that Tanya, too, thought something was going on between them.

I realize that I might actually be the world's biggest idiot. Not only was I unable to tell that Edward had feelings for me until he flat out told me, but I've been blind to the romance blooming between Alice and Jasper... and now I wonder about the hug that Rose gave Emmett. Am I just an idiot, a bad friend, or both?

Too heavy. I decide to follow Carlisle's request and drink.

By the time the afternoon has dwindled into early evening, I've lost my friends in the crowd and lost count of how many times someone has filled my champagne glass. My head feels fuzzy and light and is filled with only one thought:

_Edward_.

—|—

_You're underneath me, your entire back pressed to my front, and I'm trying to keep my weight off you while still moving._

_You turn your head, and I kiss you, but I can tell doing that hurts your neck, so I kiss your shoulder and under your hair._

_You bury your face in the pillow, and for a moment, I don't like this position, __because I can't see the ways your __face__ do__es__ all sorts of things as I do all sorts of things to you, but then you tilt your head and whisper "so good", like it's a secret or a surprise. It's both, and even though you're telling me what I already know_—_that it is so, so fucking good_—_hearing it from you makes it__ true__._

—|—

I sneak upstairs and let myself into Edward's old bedroom, shutting the door quietly behind me. I had a hunch he might be hiding out in here, and I am giddy to see that I'm right. He's sitting on the edge of his bed, his elbows on his knees, head down, hands in his hair. When he hears the door click, he looks up and sees me, immediately breaking into a wide smile.

"Hey," I say, a little too loudly, because there's finally not fifty other voices competing with mine, but I'm a little too tipsy to remember that.

"Hey," he replies, much more quietly. He looks exhausted, and still so, so good.

"You want to be left alone?" I ask.

"Not by you."

My stomach flips as he holds his hand out to me. I walk toward him and take it. He tugs me over to stand between his legs and looks up at me. My heart starts beating quickly and loudly, and he's so close that I'm sure he hears it. He pushes me back so he can bring his legs together, then pulls me forward again and down into his lap. His movements are not forceful. They're coaxes, directions that I happily follow.

—|—

_God. I can't speak, can barely think._

_There's only:_

_Push, move, push, move._

_In, out, in out._

_Deep, fast, deeper, faster._

_Fuck, god, _yes_, shit._

_You you you you._

—|—

I wind up straddling his lap, a knee on either side of his hips as he pulls our bodies together. I know it's not sexual on his part, but I can't help it; I'm drunk, which makes me pretty frisky. Combine that with the fact that I've just been pulled into the lap of the man who I am most attracted to in the world, and my brain—most of which is already doused in alcohol—evacuates the area.

When his wraps arms around me tightly and rests his nose on my collarbone, I can't help but melt into him. There is so much warmth in my blood right now, and his skin on mine cools and calms me. I place my chin on top of his head and play with the back of his hair—_God, it's soft_—winding it through my fingers as he lets out a low hum right into my pulse, making it fly even more.

"This is nice." He says the words into my skin, but I don't say anything back because in my drunken mind, I'm thinking: _this isn't nice_. _This is perfect_.

I begin placing tiny kisses on the delicious skin just under underneath his collar. He hums in pleasure and tilts his head back.

"Now, _this_ is nice," he says. I laugh, which makes him laugh, and then I suck lightly on his Adam's apple, which makes him groan and say, "Shit, Bella."

—|—

_You seem obsessed with my skin—don't get me wrong, I love it. But it's driving me crazy, making some parts of me feel like I don't need to rest, even as other parts of me tell me __that__ I really, really do. When your lips suck softly on my earlobe, I'm pretty sure I know which side is going to win out._

"_Again?" I ask you. I could go again. With you, I think I could go forever._

_You don't say anything, just grin at me and push my shoulders until I'm on my back. __You climb on top of me, kissing onto me and breathe the word 'again' into my mouth._

—|—

He tilts his head down to kiss me. Our lips are definitely touching, but still a millimeter away from kissing when he pulls away and asks, "Are you drunk?"

I shake my head from side to side vigorously—a little too vigorously, because it makes me even more lightheaded and gives him the real answer to his question.

He pulls away a little more. I want him back immediately. He scrutinizes me, a teasing smile on his face. "You are drunk!"

Instead of denying it like I want to, so I can kiss him like I want to, I say, "It's okay! Your dad told me to drink!"

"How many drinks have you had?" he asks, chuckling.

I want to huff and say _what does it matter?_ and_ I__'ve been way more drunk than this!_ and _so have you!_ and especially, _can we go back to kissing now? _But I know we won't get anywhere till I answer him, so I start to try and count in my head and realize that I really have no idea.

I shrug, and he laughingly groans.

"As much I want to, I'm not going to do this when you're drunk."

"I'm not drunk!" I insist, but my words mush together a bit, making him grin. "Okay, I'm not _that_ drunk." He gives me a skeptical look. "I'm not _very_ drunk." He arches an eyebrow. "I'm not _too_ drunk?"

He laughs and cups my face in both his hands, and for an ecstatic, intoxicated moment, I think he's going to kiss me. Instead, he just pulls my face down until my forehead rests on his. "We didn't do this drunk the first time. We're not going to do it now."

"I'm sorry I'm so brave when I'm drunk but not when I'm sober," I whisper after a few moments.

"Oh, Bella," he says, caressing my cheekbones with his thumbs. "You're not brave when you're drunk." He smiles and kisses my nose. "Just stupid."

In the haze of intoxication that removes some of my inhibitions, I hug him closer to me and say, "I'll be ready soon, I promise. I'm trying."

He chuckles softly and says into my ear, "Don't worry. I'll wait. I'm proactive but patient."

I can only smile back, and my blush is probably giving away how besotted I am with him right now. His words make my heart soar, make me feel like if I can make it with anyone, it's with a person like Edward, strong and kind and loving and understanding.

Jeez, alcohol makes me sentimental.

—|—

_I'm on my back, and you're on top of me, moving up, down, front, back, every direction seeming better than the last. Our hands are clasped in the air between us, and you use it as leverage, pushing __and __pulling__ until you're about to tip over the edge._

_You push forward on our hands, and I let you fall onto me so we're chest to chest, but we don't break our connection or lose our rhythm. I kiss you to tell you things I'm not sure __exist__ in words yet._

_When you take a sharp breath and then say my name like you're begging and thanking me for something at the same time, I think I hear your reply._

—|—

I move a little closer to him on his lap and bury my nose and mouth in his shoulder, smiling against it when he tightens his arms and shifts below me. I feel safe and happy here, cherished and adored. I feel optimistic and I feel warm and wanted and I feel… Edward's penis.

I pull away to face him. "Are you getting a boner because I was getting all mushy and romantic on you?" I ask.

He laughs and pushes me a little farther from his hips. "No, I'm getting a boner because while you were getting all mushy and romantic, you were also wriggling in my lap."

"Oh."

"Yeah. And before that, you were kissing all over me. "

"Oh yeah," I say. "Forgot about that."

He chuckles. "Believe me, I'm trying to."

"Should I get off?"

"You don't have to, but if you don't stay still, I might."

Apparently, that's the funniest thing my drunken self has ever heard, and I crack up. He laughs too, probably at how drunk I am. We're sitting there, me on his lap, just grinning at each other like the idiots we are, when we hear his mom call his name from somewhere outside the door, obviously having noticed his absence.

He groans and lets his head fall back as I slide off him, somewhat sheepishly. We both stand and he dusts off the wrinkles in his pants as he asks, "How do I look?"

Maybe because I'm now drunk on both champagne and him, I tell him the truth. "Gorgeous."

And oh my, if I wasn't already charmed by him, the flecks of color that form high on his cheekbones would do it. He looks seventeen instead of twenty-seven with those rosy cheeks. I've made Edward, _Edward,_ the guy with the smirks and dirty jokes, blush. I feel a little giddy on my power. I step closer to reach up and straighten the knot on his tie, focusing on my fingers even as I feel him smiling down at me. When I raise my eyes to his, I have to bite my lip from grinning like a fool, and I'm thinking about kissing him once more—his objections be damned—when I hear his mom call his name again.

"I better go back out there," he says.

I nod, and he steps away, out of that little circle of warm space our bodies had created.

"Don't forget what I told you," he says, and I raise my eyebrows because yes, I've already forgotten. He opens the door and says, "This isn't over. It's just starting."

There's a ridiculous warmth bubbling up inside of me that makes me laugh. "What do you have up your sleeve, Cullen?"

"Nothing but a well toned bicep, I promise."

He grins and shuts the door behind him.

—|—

_We're tired but not sated, and this time, it's slow. Our hips roll instead of pound, like we've got all the time in the world,__ nothing else to do but each other_.

—|—

By the time, the evening rolls around, I've regained my sobriety—sort of—but lost Edward to his relatives. We don't really get another moment alone together. As Jasper, Alice, Emmett and I pull our coats on the foyer, something is brought to my attention.

"So, we'll see you Thursday, then?" Emmett asks Edward.

"Wait, what?" I ask.

Edward rubs the back of his neck, something he only does when he's nervous. "Um yeah. I got a call from work about an hour ago—they need me out in California for this marketing pitch tomorrow."

"Why so last minute?" I ask.

"Actually, they let someone go the other day. Sucks for him, but it looks like if I do this well, I might be looking at a promotion. Maybe."

"And you'll be gone till _Thursday?_"

"Yeah."

"And you're leaving…"

"Tomorrow."

"So you'll come back to the city tomorrow." I feel a mild sense of relief.

"Well, yeah, but just to pick up stuff from my apartment. My flight's at like, 9 in the morning."

"So I—we won't see you tomorrow?"

"Whoa, Bella, what's with the interrogation?" Jasper asks.

I catch myself. "Oh… nothing. I just… um, didn't know he was leaving."

Alice frowns at me but doesn't say anything, and luckily, everyone seems to move on. But I don't—today changed something for me. Even if I was drunk, even if we didn't really act on it, I feel like I might finally be ready to take a step forward with Edward. The fact that he'll be gone unnerves me. It may only be for four days, but I'm thrown and don't quite know what to do with this poor timing.

I suddenly get the irrational, unfounded fear that we'll miss our chance. I _know_ we won't but I feel like we will, and I just want to get Edward alone. Discreetly shoving my scarf in my jacket pocket, I say, "Hey Edward, I think I left my scarf upstairs in your room. Can you help—"

"No, Bella," Alice interrupts, "I swear, I just saw it."

"No—" I start.

"Yeah, it's purple with polka dots, right?" Jasper asks.

"Yes, but—"

"Bella, it's in your pocket!" Edward says, tugging on the corner that is sticking out of it.

"Thanks," I say, smiling tightly. We all say goodbye, and with everyone, including Edward's parents, standing in the foyer with us, I can do nothing but hug him and wish him a safe trip.

In the car, I text him. _You idiot. The scarf was an excuse so I could say goodbye to you alone._

Two seconds later, my phone pings. _Oh, shit. I am an idiot. _I get another one. _You wanted to give me an alone goodbye?_

I swear to God, the font of the message is "smug".

Despite that, I'm disappointed enough to type back, _Well, since you're leaving for five days… yeah._

He replies, _What did this alone goodbye involve?_

I want him to repent as much I wanted to kiss him, so I say, _Nothing that can be texted._

_Oh, Swan, you're killing me. _

_Hey, you're the one playing Missionary: Impossible, _I text back. Deciding to be a little extra evil, I write, _Hey, correct me if I'm wrong, but isn't it most guys' fantasy to christen their childhood bedroom? _

He doesn't reply for a minute or two.

_I'll call you later. I'm going to go drown my sorrows in the shower. _

Then quickly, he texts again:

_If you know what I mean. _

One last one:

_And I think you do._

—|—

The next morning, my intercom buzzer rouses me, around six am. I didn't even know being awake at six am, even on a Monday, was a possibility for me. My doorman lets me know that Edward is on his way up, and I must fall asleep on the couch in the living room in the few minutes it takes for him to get upstairs, because what feels like hours later, I'm being woken up by insistent knocks on my door.

"Hey," he greets me.

He's the opposite of me right now —showered, fresh, alert. Might as well add attractive, awake, and human to that list because I'm none of those either.

"Why did you wake me up?" I ask in a sort of zombie-like voice. I am not pleasant in the morning.

Edward notices and laughs. "You were a lot nicer the last time you woke up to me. Of course, the last time, I'd given you orgasms. This time, it's just coffee and doughnuts from Chinos." He holds up a bag bearing the name of my favorite breakfast place that I never go to because it's tucked away in the corner of the city and nearly always has a line. My eyes widen—well, as much as they're going to at this hour—and my mood turns as I snatch the cup and bag from him. He laughs at my enthusiasm. "I figured that was the Bella Swan equivalent of a bouquet."

I tell him he knows me too well and thank him, yawning through it.

"C'mon, get back in bed. I'm sorry to wake you up. I just had to see if there was any chance you'd give me my 'alone goodbye'," he says, taking the food and dumping it on my kitchen table. I give him as much of a glare I can through my squinting eyes, and he laughs as he says, "Trust me, that idea went out the window when I saw you."

As he walks me back to my bedroom with his hands on my shoulders, I say, "You can get away with that comment because you brought me Chino's. That's almost better than orgasms."

He pokes my side as we step into my bedroom, making me jump, and I say, "I said _almost_." I fall face first back into bed and attempt to speak through my yawn. "So you'll be back on Thursday?"

"Yeah. Do me a favor?" he asks, as he pulls the sheets over me and tucks me in. I'm not so sleepy that the gesture doesn't charm me. I nod into the pillow and turn my head so he knows I'm listening.

"You're too demanding for six am." I joke drowsily. He chuckles, and I squint one eye open to look at him. "What do you want me to do?"

He bends down and kisses me on the cheek, his lips brushing my skin as he requests:

"Miss me."

Then he's gone. And the only thing more ridiculous than him asking me to miss him is how much I already do.

—|—

_I'm lying on my back, feeling like I've finally caught my breath. Your head is on my outstretched arm, and I play with your long hair as you kiss my shoulder. I would say that I can't think of a better moment, but any single second from tonight would qualify._

"_You know what's weird?" you ask me from somewhere in the vicinity of my neck._

"_That this isn't weird__?__"_

"_No, not that," you say. "__It's weird that I've seen your penis."_

_I crack up and roll over onto you. Your skin is so soft, and it makes me so hard. "I hope _that's_ not weird."_

_You giggle, this fucking adorable little __thing__ where you shoulders jolt as your eyes scrunch up. You shrug a little and say, "Nah, I liked that." Then you cover your face with your hands, and your words are muffled by your palms. "I can't believe I __just__ said that."_

_Neither can I. __Some girls turn clean words dirty, but you're so cute, you turn dirty words clean. You are like no one else __I'll ever know._

_I kiss your hands, which are still covering your face until you remove them __without warning__, and I'm kissing you. If you were shy two seconds ago, you're not now, twining your legs around my hips, your hands on my ass telling me just where you want me to be._

_It's just where I want to be, too._

* * *

**americnxidiot** is americnxawesome. she disccusses things like mosesme vs esmoses with me and leaves the best notes ever. may she have all the ahi tuna she could ever want.

so as it stands, there'll be two more chapters and an epi. so much for sticking to my 7-chapter outline haha. I'm writing entries for the FGB Autism and FGB Tsunami fundraising compilations. Either one or both will be outtakes from this story, either a future-shot or EPOV of one of the chapters. I haven't decided yet but I'll tweet about it when I do, if you're interested.

You guys kill me in the best way with all your love and kind words for this story. I don't really write lemons/sex so this was really, really nerve wracking for me. Tell me what you thought?


	8. Chapter 8

8.

_Monday..._

_Tuesday..._

_Wednesday..._

_Thursday..._

I spend those four days sobbing and in misery without Edward...

Not really. But some part of me does feel a little lonely. It's not that we hang out everyday, though I can't think of a time I haven't seen him for four days straight. It's more that I've always taken for granted that he is just there, in my city, in my atmosphere. I can call him, and he'd get here as fast as he could.

But I'm slowly understanding that there's a difference now. Before, I would have missed him because I wanted him around. Now, I miss him because I want him _here_.

It doesn't help that he seems to take the sunshine with him on his flight; Monday turns out to be as cloudy and broody as I feel—no rain, just that gloomy sort of day that makes it extra hard to smile. I do smile, though, and even laugh when he sends me a picture of two girls rollerblading in bikinis with the message, _Though my flight was to LA, it seems I've landed on the set of Baywatch circa 1992. _

By the time he calls me that evening, I am feeling a little desperate. We're right on the cusp of something big, and it feels like now that I've finally gotten my head around it, karma is being a little bitch and making _me_ wait.

And I am not patient.

He tells me to download some program onto my computer—Stripe or Swipe or something—and after some instructions, despite how hopelessly bad I am with technology, we are video chatting. Seeing his face makes me happier and makes my heart ache a little, all at once.

"How's California?" I ask him, my eyes going back and forth between the camera at the top of my laptop and his image on the screen.

"Bella, just keep your eyes in one place. It looks like you're having a seizure." I stick my tongue out at him but look at his face. "California's great. This client is not. They're really putting me through the ringer for this one."

"I'm sorry," I say. "I guess they want to make you earn the promotion."

He nods. "Yeah, that's what I'm thinking. Let's hope I don't fuck it up."

"You won't. Anything I can do to make you feel better?"

The words pop out of my mouth on new instinct; even though I'll be the first to admit that I'm not the most compassionate person, I want to see him smile, to be his sunny self.

"Nah," he says, shrugging it off. "Seeing you is good enough."

I smile. "I miss you," I tell him, because I think he needs to hear it—and because it is my foremost thought right now.

"Finally," he says.

"What?"

"Finally, you're coming around. It took forever."

I snort. "It took a week."

"Whatever. All that work was exhausting. I mean, I knew it'd work eventually, but—"

"Oh, stop being so self-satisfied," I tell him. "It's kind of infuriating." And bizarrely attractive.

"What? I'm not self-satisfied!"

"You absolutely are!" I reply. "If you were a dwarf in Snow White, they'd call you Smirky!" He tries to look offended but just winds up laughing.

"Give me some credit, okay?" he says. "I wooed you pretty thoroughly. Flowers and candy? Psh. I got you coffee and doughnuts. The only thing I didn't do was quote some poetry to you, like Pablo Neruda or e. e. cummings."

"I probably wouldn't have liked that, anyway, to be honest."

He grins and says suddenly, "I changed my mind."

"About?"

"Seeing you is good. But seeing you shirtless would definitely, _definitely_ make me feel better," he says, like he's the one giving me a great deal.

"You want to me to take my shirt off?" I ask.

"Hell yes!" He's so emphatic that it makes me giggle.

"I will if you will."

Instantaneously, the other side of the screen tilts onto its side like Edward had the computer on his lap and stood up suddenly. There's a shuffling noise, then the camera shakes and steadies. I honestly think that nanoseconds are too long to measure how quickly it takes Edward to do all that and pop back into view, shirt off and grin wide.

"Deal."

I laugh and take off my shirt, catching his face just in time to see it fall when he realizes that I'm wearing a tank top underneath.

"Deal," I tell him.

"What? No fair!" he whines.

"You should have been more specific," I warn. I can't help but enjoy the sight of him shirtless, even if I can only really see the upper half of his torso. Yes, it's partially because I love the light dusting of nearly blond chest hair and his smooth shoulders and the strong line of his collarbones as they form hollows when he adjusts the computer. But it's also because—and I think I'm tapping into a dormant possessive streak here—it amazes me that _I_ get to see this; that Edward is mine in a way that lets me look at him and admire him and, when this damn trip to California is over, even touch him.

He pouts, and it makes him look like a little boy with a man's body.

"You are a cruel woman. I mean, I've had a long, hard day at work. I am 2,803 miles away from where I want to be—I know this because I Google-mapped it. It'd take me 38 days to walk to your place. The least you could do is show me your boobs. I mean, really. That's just human decency." I laugh but he continues to beg his case. "I mean, just show me one, even. Or like... some cleavage. Or just a nipple. I could make do with a nipple."

"'Make do'? The nipple is the most important part of the boob!" I tell him. "Like... you can see all of the boob and not see the nipple, and you haven't seen the boob. You see just the nipple and none of the boob, and you've still seen the boob. A boob and no nipple is just... fat."

"What the hell?" he says, looking angry. "'A boob is just fat'? Why are you trying to ruin breasts for me? Why are you trying to ruin my life?"

"Okay, okay," I say, giggling. "Sorry." I know he's mostly joking but he looks kind of upset. I'm pretty sure Edward is a breast man, through and through.

"So will you make it up to me by showing me some tit?"

I snort. "Watch yourself. There's a thin line between cute and creepy, and you're straddling it right now."

"You know what I'd really like to straddle is—"

"Okay, my fault. I left that wide open, so you could—"

"You know what I'd like to be wide open?"

"Edward!"

"What?"

"I can't believe you were going to say that!"

He cocks an eyebrow, and I know I'm in trouble. "What do you think I was going to say?"

"Something dirty."

He lets out a high pitched noise of offense. "What? I was going to say my _arms_, Bella. That's what is going to be wide open. My arms. My _heart_, which is pure and innocent." I snort, and he makes a face at me. "My mind to all the possibilities. Get your mind out of the gutter."

We wind up talking for hours, which seem to go by in minutes, until finally I'm yawning so much that Edward says, "Bella, holy shit, it's 2:15 where you are. Go to bed!"

"I'm"—yawn—"not"—yawn—"sleepy," I tell him. I don't want to end the call... chat session... video... _whatever _and go back to missing him. Right now, my sleep-addled brain is wondering if we can just keep the video on for the next few days till he gets back.

I don't realize I've said this out loud till I hear him say, "I mean, that's an idea, but it might get weird at work."

"It's okay," I say, yawning again. "People at work already know I'm weird."

He laughs. "Go to bed, Bella. We'll talk again same time tomorrow—or tonight, I guess. Does that work for you?"

I nod. "Yeah. That works."

He smiles. "Good night, Bella."

"Good night. Hey, Edward?" I say just as I see him reaching for the button to close the window.

"Yeah?"

I don't say anything; I simply pull down one side of my shirt and flash him— boob _and_ nipple— shamelessly. I wait till I see him grin in delight before I shut my screen.

— | —

On my way to work the next morning, I receive a text message from Edward.

_I sent you an email. If you're checking it at work, make sure no one can see your screen._

I reply, _Why?_

_Your little peep show inspired me last night_, he texts back.

_What do you mean?_ I send the message back, but the train goes underground and my signal cuts out, leaving me anxious to see what he's up to.

I get his answer once I'm off the subway.

_I wrote you an erotic poem_.

I walk the four blocks from the subway station faster than I ever have before in my life, thinking _Edward wrote me an erotic poem? Edward wrote me an erotic poem! _over and over again. Luckily, when I get to work, Angela is not at her desk, so I hurry and pull up the email from Edward...

And nearly spit the sip of coffee I just took on the screen.

His email reads:

_Guess you make a poet out of me, Bella._

_Edward Cullen Erotic Poem #1:_

_This breast_

_is the best._

_I do not jest._

_I will not rest_

_in my quest_

_where I test_

_this best breast._

_Sad when it's dress'd,_

_For I love a naked chest._

_Now I must behest_

_that I should go rest,_

_Lest I crest_

_and make a mess(t)_

_at the thought of this best breast._

_The end.  
_

_Suck on _that_, Neruda. –E_

And I laugh and laugh. When I finally catch my breath, I call him.

"Hey. You read my email?" he asks as soon as he picks up.

I laugh. "Umm… yeah, I did."

"Well?"

"Well what?"

"What do you think?"

"I think you're less like Neruda and more like a dirty Dr. Seuss," I tell him.

He chuckles. "I'm okay with that. More my style anyway."

"Why are you up? Isn't it ridiculously early in the morning for you?"

He sighs. "Some people do get up before 7:00, Bella. I know it's unimaginable to you, but it happens. Anyway, we have two big presentations first thing in the morning; then in the afternoon, they're having some sort of function. Get this: it's a work party _on the beach_."

"Damn," I say, looking outside my window where the rain has started to drizzle. "Why don't we live in California?"

"I have no idea, but I better go," he says.

"Yeah, me too."

"Hey, just consider all the hard work I put into that poem, okay? Think about rewarding me for it."

"Oh yeah? What do you want?"

"Oh, you know what I want."

I look around the office to make sure no one is in earshot before I sigh and say, "You want to see my other boob, don't you?"

I can hear the grin in his voice. "Absolutely. Who knows what _both_ of them might inspire me to write?"

"I'll think about it."

"You are a cold, cold woman, Bella Swan. Guess I'll just have to find a way to get you hot."

His smile, even if I can't see it, is as infectious as his playfulness. "You talk big."

"Oh, I think you know what else is big."

"You better be talking about your ego."

"If that's what you want to call it," he says, the leer evident in his voice.

I laugh. "I cannot have this conversation at 9:30 in the morning."

"Try having it at 6:30am."

We chatter on like this for another ten minutes until Angela comes in and I realize that we are really, really bad at ending phone calls. The day passes without incident, mostly because I'm so looking forward to talking to him again at night.

However, when he does come on screen later, I am greeted by an unexpected sight.

"Whoa!" I say.

"I know," he moans. "Don't say anything, please?"

I snort. "Yeah, right, like that's going to happen."

"Alright." He sighs. "But be gentle with me"—he pauses before adding—"even if I like it when you're a little rough." He grins, then winces.

"You look like a stop sign," I say, referring to his rather ridiculous sunburn. Parts of his face are a lovely golden brown, which brings out his green eyes even more. Unfortunately, more parts—like his nose, cheekbones and forehead—are an even, angry red. "You look like a fire truck. Like Rudolph's nose. Like a traffic light."

"Go ahead, get it out of your system."

"An apple. A tomato. The soles of those really expensive heels celebrities wear. Hooker's lipstick. The Chinese flag. The spaghetti sauce at Leone's. The Netflix envelope. Carrot Top's hair. Rosalie when she's really angry—"

"Okay, that's it. You're done," he says. It's alright. I was scraping the barrel anyway, but his words do remind me of something.

"Actually, that makes me think of that time you visited us after spring break—was it your senior year? You had the worst sunburn, and for like, three weeks, Rose called you—"

"Don't say it, Bella," he warns.

"Why not?"

"She wrote that name on my Facebook wall, and _every_body started calling me it. I was so pissed," he says.

"I _never_ called you—"

"Don't say it!"

"But," I pout. "That's not fair. I never got to call you that back then. The least you could do is let me call you it now." I attempt to make a puppy dog face. I'm not one of those cutesy girls so it's probably closer to one of those ugly hairless breeds, but it seems to work.

Edward sighs. "Alright. You can call me that _one_ time. That's it. One time to get it out of your system, and then I never want to hear you call me that again."

"Okay!" I say, grinning.

"Okay," he says. He sighs exaggeratedly. "Go ahead."

"What? No way. If I get to only call you that once in our entire lives, I'm saving it for a really, really good occasion."

His brow furrows. "I mean… fine. But no take-backs if you blurt it out accidentally."

I crack up. "Like if we're having sex, and I suddenly yell it out?" He doesn't answer and I snap in front of the camera a couple of times to get his attention.

"Sorry, you lost me at 'we're having sex'," he says. "And for the record, I resent the 'if' you put before it." His words are teasing, but all they do is remind me of our night together. Suddenly, I want him here for some reasons more than others.

"Bella?" This time, _he_ snaps to get my attention. "Didn't offend you, did I?"

The millions of thoughts and memories that are running through my head are anything but offensive.

"No… I was just thinking."

He's silent for a moment before he asks quietly, "About that night?"

I don't quite trust the tone of my voice right now, so I nod. He blinks rapidly, and I see him audibly swallow; the bob of his Adam's apple seems impossibly sexy to me. Even though he's not physically here, the room seems to constrict to just me looking at him and him looking back at me.

He clears his throat but his voice still rasps a little as he says, "What are you thinking?"

There's definite fear in my words as I speak—I'm not a particularly vocal person, especially not about stuff like this, but a part of me really wants to say it, wants him to know that I want him, too.

"I'm thinking about all the, um, things we did."

"Yeah?" His voice is so low.

"Yeah. And about... what it might be like if—" I take a deep breath and correct myself, "—_when_ we do them again."

"You have no idea, Bella," he says, his voice gritty and husky and so, so sexy. "The things I thought that night, the things I think…" He exhales on his last words, shaking his head slightly, and for a moment, I imagine his breath and his words on my skin. I feel warm in every part of me.

I swallow and say shakily, "One day, tell me them, okay?"

The glint in his eye is easy to see even through the grainy screen. He's still my playful Edward, but I can see that tendon in his jaw working over time, and I wonder if he's picturing what I am—me wrapped up in and around him as he tells me things and then does them to me. Or maybe tells me things _while_ he does them to me.

We spend the next few moments in silence, perhaps trying to put ourselves back together even as I will Thursday to just be here already. For Edward to just be here already.

After a few minutes, he speaks again.

"You're the best I ever had, too. You know that, right?"

I smile. He's never actually said it, even if he's pretty much shown it. Still, "It's always nice to hear."

"It's true." He lets out one of those little snuffling chuckles—I've started to figure out he does that before he's about to go sweet on me. It's becoming one of my favorite noises. "I mean, the best anything. The best _every_thing. The best lay, the best friend, the best… just the best."

My heart feels like that scene in _The Grinch Who Stole Christmas_, where it swells three sizes and is too big for my chest, so I try and let it out through my grin.

"Oh, Edward," I say, sighing my smile. "You're a moron."

He is surprised. "Excuse me?"

"You are. You're an absolute idiot."

"Why?"

"Because if you'd said that line sitting next to me, instead of from 3000 miles away, you'd be getting so thoroughly laid right now, I can't even tell you."

He half-laughs and half-groans. "And on that note, go to bed. I'm going to take a very cold shower."

"That'll probably good for your sunburn," I tell him.

He shakes his head and grins. "Sure, but that's not why I'll be taking it."

I roll my eyes but then smile and say, "If only I was there to rub aloe on you. All over you. Anywhere. _Everywhere_."

He makes this strange noise that sounds like a disgruntled pterodactyl—in my imagination at least—and says, "Tease. I'll talk to you tomorrow."

"Talk to you tomorrow."

Just as I'm about to close the window, I see the clock in the top right-hand corner of my screen.

"Hey Edward?"

"Yeah?"

"It's after midnight—it's Wednesday. I'll _see_ you tomorrow."

The last thing I see before I shut the computer is his grin, bright and happy. I fall asleep wearing the same one.

—|—

"_Um…" you say, displaying the first sign of awkwardness of the night. "Can I get a shirt or something? I don't want to sit around naked."_

_I laugh. "Why the hell not? I am." I motion toward my body, which is covered only by a sheet._

"_Because," you say, indicating where you are clutching the same sheet to your chest. "I have breasts."_

"_That's my point."_

_You roll your eyes. I love that after all the things you've let me do to you, you still won't let me give you too much shit._

_But teasing you is pretty much what I do, and teasing you when you're naked is too good to resist, so I tug on the sheet as you get up off the bed and try and take it with you._

"_Edward…" you warn. You've said my name so many different ways tonight, and this one isn't my favorite—that'd be when you say it soft and hurried and in between twenty 'please's—but I still like to hear it. We play tug-of-war with the sheet, but just until your protests turn to giggles. When I let go of the sheet, you're still pulling and you stumble back a few steps and blink a couple times. Then you awkwardly try to wrap it around your body and walk, but you trip a couple times. It's clumsy and a bit gawky, and I love that five minutes ago, you were under me, breathless and sexy, but now, you're right back to being you. _

"_Bella," I say._

"_What?" You look at me from the foot of the bed, eyes wide. I'm lying there, completely uncovered, and you can't—or maybe don't—stop your eyes from wandering lower than my face. Much lower than my face._

_I cross my arms behind my head, because the look on your face makes me feel like a fucking king, and say, "Come on. Lose the sheet."_

"_I lose the sheet if you can lose the smirk," you challenge._

_And I try. I really do. I bite both my lips and think of terrible things, like going soft or the first time I had to change in a communal locker room. It doesn't work. I can't stop smirking—in fact, now I can't stop grinning._

_You roll your eyes but I see you smile as you turn away from me and open the top drawer of my dresser. You pull out a t-shirt, because you know where I keep my stuff, and make your way to the bathroom. It's a simple action, but it twists me in a way I can't quite explain; and then you come out in just my t-shirt. It barely covers your ass, and I know you're not wearing underwear because I can see it on the floor where you tossed it earlier. You walk over to where my boxers are in a pile on top of my jeans and pull them on._

_Seeing you in my clothes makes me realize how easy it is with you—relaxed and fun and good._

_Seeing you in my clothes makes me feel like you're mine._

_And seeing you in my clothes makes me want to see you out of them._

_I sit up, swinging my body so I'm sitting on the side of the bed. I stretch my arm out and grab your hand as you pass me, pulling you to stand between my legs. I tilt my head to look up at you, and you take one finger and trace it down my face. The way you look at me is amazing; I think it's the way I've been looking at you all night. It feels really intense, so I break eye contact and duck my head under the hem of your t-shirt, pulling it over my head so I am cocooned as I kiss your stomach._

_You laugh and say, "Edward, what are you doing?"_

_I shake my head, my nose digging into the soft flesh of your stomach._

_I don't know. I have no fucking clue. But my mouth is on your skin and your hands are in my hair, and it all feels so, so good._

* * *

A million, billion sorrys for how long this took. Grad school and real life just took over without asking if there were other things I'd rather do. But the next chapter is almost ready to go, so I'm desperately trying to go back to updating quickly. And yeah, there's been a little reorganizing so it might go a chapter or so longer. I promise not to drag it out though. You guys are way, waaaay too good to me and this story for me to do that; it's just the chapters turned out a lot longer than I had planned so I had to re-organize a bit.

**americnxidiot** is the best vanilla bear since zac braff. maybeevenbetter.

I made a silly little playlist for this fic, which you can find on livejournal (you don't have to be a member): either at community(dot)livejournal(dot)com/fanfic_mixes/ or my own journal: whatsmynom(dot)livejournal(dot)com. I also contributed a short EPOV (from the morning after-ish to chapter 2) to the compilation for FGB Autism if you're interested.

You guys are too, too sweet. Thank you so much for the reviews, tweets, recs, comments and love. See you soon, but till then, share your thoughts?


	9. Chapter 9

9.

Angela, my boss Carmen, and I are all sitting at lunch on Wednesday when our conversation takes an unexpected turn.

"Bella, is Edward seeing anyone?" Carmen asks, causing me to nearly choke on my burger. I take an extra big bite to give myself enough time to be nonchalant about Edward, but that only buys me a few seconds, when I really need a few years, maybe the rest of my life.

"Ummm…" I shrug. "No."

I say the word slowly and strangely because the lie doesn't really want to come off my tongue. It's a strange feeling; I'm still not comfortable talking about my personal life to anyone except my close friends, and barely them most of the time. But I feel like I can't hide this thing between Edward and me for too much longer. I feel like I may not _want_ to hide it for too much longer. However, I've never been the gushy girl, and although I do consider both Carmen and Angela friends, they're still co-workers, so my keep my mouth shut.

"Oh good!" Carmen says. _Good? Why the hell would that be good? _ "I want to set him up with my friend, Gianna." _That's why._

"You do?" My voice sounds all weird and shaky, like I've swallowed a bunch of pop rocks but they're stuck in my throat.

"Yeah, she's really great," Carmen says. I tell myself calmly that it doesn't really matter. Not only will this set up probably never happen, but if Carmen ever did ask Edward, he'd say no.

"Is she the wildlife photographer?" Angela asks.

"Yeah, she just got back from a shoot in the Amazon rainforest."

_Okay, he loved Anaconda, but that was probably more for JLo's ass than anything. He'd say no. He wouldn't be interested in this Gianna chick._

"That's amazing," Angela says. I nod woodenly in agreement. "Wait, she's also the part time model right?"

_For the love of God_.

"Yes," Carmen says, nodding. "But she donates all the money she makes from her modeling job to Unicef."

_God_damn_, when did people stop being normal and doing just one thing? Like say, working at a real estate agency._

"So anyway, I just think they'd get along fabulously. Edward's such a wonderful guy, he's funny, and there's no doubt she'd find him attractive," Carmen says.

Angela giggles. "Seriously. Bella knows what a crush I have on him."

Carmen grins. "Who doesn't? If I were ten years younger, I would hit that daily, nightly, and ever so rightly."

I nearly choke on my burger again. I mean, I'd always known women find Edward attractive; I'm not that much of an oblivious dumbass. But approaching this from a different side—the side where _I _get to hit it daily, nightly and ever so rightly, as Carmen so aptly put it—feels weird. I'm half proud over the fact, half sort of annoyed, because he's _mine_, god damn it.

Luckily, Angela speaks again. Not so luckily, she says, "Honestly, there's no doubt that he'd find her attractive either—she's _go-o-orgeous_." Apparently, she's so gorgeous, Angela had to add extra syllables to the word.

"Oh, yes. I'd kill a cute bunny for her legs," Carmen agrees.

"Right? Or her boobs. She's got _great_ boo—"

"Edward is my boyfriend!" I blurt out.

My eyes widen and then close as I shake my head, unable to believe that I have reached this level of idiocy. Not only did I tell them about Edward and me, I told them something about me and Edward that isn't really true yet. I mean, we're heading there, clearly, but only I would be dumb enough to let my boyfriend be the third person to know that he is, in fact, my boyfriend.

"_What?" _Angela shrieks. "Edward is your boyfriend?"

"Ummmm…" I manage to pull my foot out of my mouth and say, "Yeah. Kind of. Yeah. Kind of…. Yeah."

Angela and Carmen both frown. "Is it 'yeah' or 'kind of'?"

"Both?"

Angela apparently only hears "yeah" because she asks, "Since when?"

"It's new. Really new," I tell her. _Like about twenty seconds old. And sort of one-sided right now._

Angela and Carmen barrage me with questions through lunch, but I manage to get through the conversation without further damage. I do this mostly by mumbling and taking big bites of my food—so many, in fact, that when I'm done eating my burger and cramming the steak fries in my mouth, I start on Angela's leftover quesadillas.

I take stress eating to a whole new level.

By the time I'm seated in front of my computer, waiting for Edward to log on, I'm a nervous wreck. I could easily not tell him about the conversation—no, scratch that. I'm so used to telling Edward pretty much everything that I can barely imagine not telling him this.

And though I know the outcome—that by the end of this conversation, if all goes as planned, Edward will, officially (and more importantly, with his knowledge) be my boyfriend—my stomach is in knots. It feels a little silly and immature, like we're in middle school and have to declare it to each other instead of having the title sort of evolving more organically. That's my fault, of course, but I have other worries, too. If I can barely hold the conversation about being his girlfriend, what does that say about the kind of girlfriend I will be?

However, the minute his face comes on the screen, the knots fall away. Then he grins at me, and my heart flips, and the knots come back because even through the grainy screen and his sunburn, he looks so good, and I realize just how much I want this.

"Hey."

"What's up? How was your day?" he asks.

"I did something today…" I say, trailing off ominously.

He frowns. "Okay… what'd you do?"

I mumble a fast-forwarded version of the story.

"Uh what? I can't understand you," he tells me.

Chewing furiously on my cuticle, I tell him again.

"Bella!" he says, getting frustrated. "Take your finger out of your mouth, don't mumble, and speak like a real person. What did you do?"

I take a deep breath. "I told Angela and Carmen you were my boyfriend."

His eyebrows climb into his hairline. "Okay. Any particular reason, or did you just get up on your desk and shout it to the office—"

"Shut up. It wasn't like that. We were at lunch and—and Carmen wanted to set you up with her friend, Gianna, and she's like a wildlife photographer and model—"

"A wildlife photographer _and_ a model?" he asks, sounding a little impressed.

"Yes! And she's a philanthropist, who helps with Unicef, _and_ she's got legs and boobs!" I tell him unhappily.

He chuckles. "Wait, she's got legs? And boobs? No way!"

"Shut up! It's not funny! Angela said she was really hot, and Carmen kept saying how she'd like you, and you'd like her and—damn it, you wouldn't like her, okay? You like me. And that's it." I cross my arms to mark the end of my tantrum.

Edward grins and looks down, hiding his face from me. Only when I see his shoulders shake do I realize that he's laughing.

"Shut up!" I whine for the third time. "You should be happy I'm getting all possessive."

"I am," he says, between laughs. "I absolutely am. But you know… that's kind of rude of you."

"I know," I groan.

"Not to mention presumptuous," he adds.

"I know."

"I mean, you could have at least mentioned it to me first before your co-workers."

He's literally repeating everything I've been worried about. Granted, he's teasing, because his eyes are twinkling and the corner of his mouth keeps twitching in effort to not smile, but _still_.

"I know," I repeat, mournfully.

"I mean, you have no idea whether I actually_ want_ to be your boyfriend or not."

This stops me short. "Excuse me?"

"Yeah, that's right," he says, assuming a haughty tone. "You just assumed that _bam_! Bella wants a boyfriend, so Edward should just go along with it. That's not the way a healthy relationship works."

"But… but… " I sputter. He's so good at teasing me; he sets up these little traps, and I just fall right into them.

"You know what assuming does, right? It makes an ass out of you and me. But not so much me, in this case. Just you," he quips.

"So you don't want to be my boyfriend?" I ask. I raise my eyebrow the way he taught me once—I mean, I can raise it about one millimeter, but I'm sure it's really effective.

"Maybe I do. Maybe I don't." He shrugs. "Won't know till you ask me, will we?"

I narrow my eyes at him. "You're such an ass."

"An ass _you_ called your boyfriend. Come on now, Bella. You said it. Take responsibility and ask me."

I roll my eyes. "Fine. But for the record, I feel like I'm fifteen years old."

"For the record, you act like it too," he says.

"Hey! Just because—"

"Quit stalling and ask me, Bella. Your window of opportunity is slowly closing."

"Is that so?"

"Oh yeah," he says. "These Cali girls _love_ me."

"Even though you and Elmo have the same color skin right now?"

He glares at me. "Boy, when you ask me, it's going to be _really_ easy to say no."

"In that case, let's get it over with," I say. Adopting the most disinterested tone I can muster, I say, "Edward. Do you want to be my boyfriend?"

"I'm considering it." His smirk gives him away, but I play along. "I need to be fully informed first. Does it come with any special privileges? Particularly those of the breast viewing variety?"

I laugh. "Sure, why not? You get unlimited breast viewing."

He grins widely. "_Really_?"

I see where he's going and amend my statement. "You get unlimited _live_ breast viewing."

He scoffs. "Not good enough."

"Alright then," I say, shrugging. "Guess you're not my boyfriend."

He shrugs too. "Guess not."

We sit there for a few minutes, not talking. At one point, I pull out a nail file and start giving myself an at-home (aka shitty) manicure. He twiddles his thumbs. I whistle the theme from Jeopardy. He pulls out a magazine.

But as soon as he opens to a page, he shuts it and slams it on his bed saying, "Alright, fuck it. I want to be your boyfriend."

I can't even be bothered to pretend I'm not absolutely smitten. "And I want you to be my boyfriend. Though, I'm not sure why we needed to go through all that fuss."

He smiles. "Are you kidding me? That's the first time I've not been the one pushing this thing along. It was nice to kind of have the ball in my court, even if we both knew how full of shit I was."

Maybe I'm getting better at this stuff, but I see through his words. For the first time, I gave full indication that I was as deep in this as he was. He's so confident and sure all the time, I forget that he needs reassurance—and that the person he'll probably want it most from is me.

"Hey Edward?"

"Yeah?"

"I'm really glad you're my boyfriend."

Yes, I feel fifteen, but in this wonderful way. It's as if the cutest boy in school—or in my opinion, the world—likes me back and getting to call him my boyfriend is this wonderful privilege that is solely mine. All mine. (Jeez, that only child thing is really coming out strong these days.)

But that fluttering in my heart is only amplified tenfold when he smiles, almost shyly, and ducks his head down. I can't see his blush under his sunburn, but his posture tells me everything.

When he looks up again, he's back to his normal cocky, joking self. "I mean, in the future, just so we're clear, it'd be nice to have a little heads up. Like, if you're going to, I don't know… move in with me, just make sure to let me know before I walk in to my place and wonder where all the extra furniture came from."

I roll my eyes. "Alright, one step at a time there, buddy."'

He nods. "Okay. So you're my girlfriend."

"Yes. And you're my boyfriend."

"Alright." He grins.

"Alright." I grin.

"We're the dumbest people in the world for doing this over the computer," he says, sighing and still smiling. "I don't even get to kiss you."

"I mean, you do." I correct him. "Just not right now."

He smiles. "True. But it feels... very unceremonious, this whole thing."

"More unceremonious than me blurting it out to Angela and Carmen with a mouthful of cheeseburger and A1?" I ask.

He sighs. "Yeah, I guess none of this is particularly romantic."

My heart melts a little because he wants so badly for this all to be perfect. I'm having my Pinocchio comes to life moment, where I'm suddenly a real person with emotion and empathy. It occurs to me that this is what feelings feel like. This is may even be what lov—

_Whoa._ My thoughts stop short._ Not _quite_ ready for that yet. _

"I just think," Edward continues, snapping me out of my thoughts, "that it'd be nice to have something seal the deal, you know?"

"You're right."

His words, my thoughts, they've all reminded me that I'm still really new at this—and that I'll probably mess it up, and I need Edward to be on board with my messing.

He looks at me suspiciously. "I am? You never say that."

"You're right about sealing the deal, at least. I feel like we need to maybe set some rules."

He groans. "Bella, no. I meant like… you flash me again, and we seal the deal. We don't need rules. We're not a board game. "

"See, I think you're wrong!"

"We _are_ a board game?"

I roll my eyes. "No! I mean, I think that we can't do everything like we did as friends and just expect it to work."

"Yes, we can. We _absolutely_ can. Friends who have sex sounds like the perfect relationship to me."

"Then you and Emmett should date."

He makes a disgusted face. "Let me rephrase that. Friends, sex, and _you_ sound like the perfect relationship to me."

I blush and smile and swoon a little, I do. But I'm still me, even if I'm this enamored, girlfriend version of myself. "No, it's not! Friends have a higher threshold for annoying each other than boyfriends—" he gives me a look "—fine, _and_ girlfriends—do. So that can be rule number one. No annoying each other."

His shoulders drop. "You're an idiot. Our whole friendship is based on me annoying you, you liking it, and me liking that you like it."

Hmmm. He's correct—not that I'll say that out loud again. "Alright. No annoying each other too much."

"Alright," he says. "If we're doing this, then rule number two: no acting like it's inevitable that we're going to break up."

"Alright, I'll try not to. But I can't help that I'm realistic—"

"Cynical," Edward interrupts.

"_Realistic_ about relationships. I mean, look at my mom."

"Look at my mom and dad," he counters.

"They're a fluke," I argue.

"Cynic."

"I'm just saying that people break up a lot."

"But all it takes is one to stick."

"You think I'm sticky?" I blurt, wondering _when did I turn into such an idiot_?

He smiles and chuckles. "Like glue."

"Okay—"

"No, wait, ask me again."

"Are you kidding me? I can't even believe I said that the first time."

He knits his eyebrows together and I hate that on him, it looks adorable; if I tried the same expression, it'd look like I was counting eyelashes or having a conniption. Maybe both. I also hate how irresistible I find it. "Just ask me, Bella."

"Fine. You think I'm sticky?" I deadpan.

"Like a fourteen-year-old boy with HBO." He snickers, pleased with his own wit.

He needs someone to keep his ego in check, so I quickly change the subject saying, "So, rules."

I'm a little surprised when he says nothing and his smile fades.

"What's with the face, Cullen?" I ask. He's got his little boy pout on, where his eyes get inversely big to the size of his mouth.

He shrugs. "I don't know..." His tone tells me that he is somewhat serious. "I just... I don't want to make the mistake of over-thinking this."

I sigh. "Edward, that's what I _do. _I over-think about what toothpaste to buy at the store, even though I always end up with the same one."

He nods. "I know. And I get it, I really do. That's how you are; I'm not looking to change that. I just... you're fun, Bella. _We're_ fun. That's my favorite thing about us. I..." He trails off before seemingly gathering his resolve and saying, "I don't want that to change now just because you're my girlfriend."

All of a sudden, I am filled with an almost overwhelming pang. I know we're talking it out, and that's probably the best thing we could do, but I need him here. I want to hold his hand and see his eyes without the filter of a screen, HD though it might be. I want to touch and kiss him to remind myself, to remind both of us of this thing between us, that it's really as strong as I think it is. I just want him here. Where he should be.

Quietly, I admit," Edward... I don't really know how to be a girlfriend. I might mess it up."

It's like my admission of insecurity gives him strength. Maybe he needs to see how much I care more often than I think he does to know I'm right where he is.

He smiles. "That's kind of my point. You don't _need_ to be a girlfriend. You don't need to be anything. I fell for you when you were just being yourself."

I smile back at him. "What if 'myself' is kind of a bitch?"

He snorts. "'What if'?"

"Hey!"

"Come on, just face it. I know you like you know me. Warts and all."

"I don't have warts."

"Yeah but you _do _have a birthmark on the inside of your thigh," he says. He waggles his eyebrows with a strange but signature mix of humor and innuendo. "How many other people know about that?"

I live to wipe that smug smirk off his face, so I pretend to think about it before counting off on my fingers. "Well, my first boyfriend—"

"Alright, alright. I get it. Rule number three: No being stupid and all jealous and possessive." I don't say anything. "What?" he asks.

"I think I really am jealous and possessive," I confess.

He grins. "Oh yeah?"

"Isn't the whole lunch fiasco proof enough?"

His laugh is clearly making fun of me, but it's alright. I clearly deserve to be made fun of. What I don't know if I deserve is him, especially when he says, "Ah, whatever. I kind of like it. It's hot. And if it ever bugs me, you know I won't hesitate to tell you."

I want him to know I heard what he said; that I want to make this as good for him as he's making it for me. So going back to the original subject, I say, "We could have fun rules too! Like once a week, we must do something awesome."

'Like what?"

"Like... I don't know. Try and cook a new cuisine."

He snorts. "Of course, your idea of fun would be food."

I make a face but can't really deny it. "_Your_ idea of fun is probably... I don't know, staring at my boobs."

He gets that glint in his eyes where I know he's either about to say something really sexy or really funny. Lots of times it's both; either way, I can't deny how much I like it.

"That's pretty much exactly my idea of fun. Topless Sundays."

I roll my eyes, but the idea doesn't sound all that ridiculous to me. I may not be as much of a fiend about it, but I can hardly say no to the idea of seeing him shirtless. "We could do Topless Cooking Sundays?"

He laughs. "Done. Rule number four: Topless Cooking Sundays. Nothing that splatters, though." I laugh at the face he makes.

"Rule number five: don't be offended if I don't feel like snuggling _every_ night," I tell him. He chortles. "What?"

"Nothing," he says, still laughing. "It's just that when you're slee—never mind. That rule is fine."

"Alright... what else?" I ask.

"Please keep your house stocked with Coke."

"... caine?"

"_Cola." _He looks at me like I have a second head. I kind of wish I did. At least then I'd have _one_ brain.

"I'm a Pepsi girl but that's fine. Compromise."

"Don't get whiny if I don't shave," he tells me.

"_You _don't get whiny if I don't shave," I retort. If he can agree to this, I've scored a coup. I hate shaving my legs.

"Fair enough," he agrees. _Yes!_ "You have to let me see your breasts at least once a day."

I roll my eyes. "Fine. And if we break up—"

"Bella..." he warns.

"No, hear me out. I'm not being a Debbie Downer."

"Okay."

"If we break up, I get your Snuggie as relationship alimony."

"You gave that to me for Christmas!"

"Yeah, and I was really hoping you'd think it was so ridiculous, you'd give it back to me. But you liked it!"

He rolls his eyes. "Fine. You know what? It's yours."

"Really?" I ask, delighted.

He laughs. "It takes so little to please you sometimes."

I shrug. "It's the simple things in life, like blankets with sleeves."

"Alright. But if we break up, you have to remember how nice I was about the Snuggie and let me still see your boobs for the first few weeks of our break up as therapy."

"Sometimes, I feel like you only want me for my boobs."

He shrugs and smiles. "Sometimes, I will. But rest assured, no mater what, I will always love yo—"

"Edward!"

"—ur breasts," he finishes.

"Oh," I say, lamely, realizing that he wasn't going to say what I thought he was.

It could get awkward. By all means, it _should_ get awkward and I wait one, two, three seconds for that burning embarrassment that comes with being a total moron to set in.

But it never does, because with a ridiculous snort, Edward cracks up and tells me just what I was thinking. "You are _such_ a idiot, Bella." He's laughing so hard—and it doesn't even matter that it's at me, and not with me because it's better than any reaction anyone else would have had.

Once he regains his composure, we talk for a while longer. I keep expecting things to be different because we've taken this huge step in going from friends to officially more. But we're still just us, exactly the same. I hope we stay like this always, and that prompts me, just before we both sign off for the night, to add more thing.

"Rule number… whatever," I tell him. "Don't stop being my best friend."

"C'mon, Bella," he says, grinning. "I couldn't stop being your best friend if I tried. And I'd never try."

This moment should be monumentally romantic, but instead, it winds up being kind of goofy—I'm looking at him on the screen, and he's looking at me on the screen so even though we're trying, we're not actually looking into each other's eyes, just _at_ them.

"Goodnight, Bella," he says. His voice is so soft with affection, it gives me goosebumps and stomach flips.

"Goodnight. I'll see you soon."

His smile is hot and warm all at once. "I hope you know I'm not just going to stop at seeing."

"I'm holding you to that."

—|—

_I manage—through a coaxing combination of whining, pleading, and kisses to the side of your neck—to convince you to sleep without your shirt on. You stick to your guns about the boxers, but I guess I can compromise on that._

_You curl on your side, and this is where is gets weird. I've slept with you, but can I _sleep_ with you? I'm a bit of a cuddler—something I'm ashamed enough of to have hidden from you guys all these years—__but I don't know if you are.__ I slide my arm around your waist, tentatively moving it up and down till I can be comfortable—till I know you're okay with it._

_After a few moments, you mutter, "For God's sake", and move backwards into me so we're spooning. You take my hand and place it on your breast._

_You fall asleep a few minutes later and turn around. I would have never pegged you for a cuddler, but you snuggle __right__ into my side. Two seconds later, I find __out __you really aren't a snuggler—you're a freaking burrower, and you dig, dig, dig into me until I'm nearly falling of the bed, teetering on the edge of it on my side. _

_This might be a problem. Falling on my ass once can be passed off as goofy and charming. Twice and I'm a moron without motor skills._

_I nudge you._

"_Edward," you mutter. I don't know if you're answering my movement or talking in your sleep. I thought I already knew which way I liked you saying my name best. But this one, as you attempt to be as close to me __as physically possible__—maybe even closer—is pretty great, too._

_Suddenly, you roll over, clutching my arm as you do,__ and__ bring me with you toward the middle of the bed._

_Doesn't really matter__.__ I've already fallen. _

* * *

thanks for reading, guys. Edward comes back next chapter, then we have one more and an epi. I'm sticking to my guns; no more chapter splitting.

**americnxidiot** (aka needy robin) betaed this and used Rob gifs to demonstrate her feelings about certain sections. I won't say how awesome she is because the previous sentence just did it for me.

So I realized I sort of suck and rarely get to review replying. And I hate to pull out the busy card because every author is busy and a lot of them do it anyway, so I'll just say sorry. I hope you guys know how much I appreciate it. You're so so lovely and I love to hear what you say whether its in a review, PM, twitter, discussion, whatever.

So tell me things: Do you like Coke or Pepsi? Do you do Topless Sundays_? _Do you own a snuggie?... do you want to?

Or if you want to just wanna talk about the story, that's great too. _  
_


	10. Chapter 10

10.

For the first time in my life, I am up before my alarm. My entire body is at attention, and my brain is like my CD player was the summer I was thirteen. I played only one song on repeat until it drove my father so crazy, he slept at the police station, just to avoid me and Ricky Martin.

_Edward comes home today!_

I get out of bed and brush my teeth. _Edward comes home today! _I put on my clothes. _Edward comes home today! _I drink my first cup of coffee and the volume goes way up. _EDWARD COMES HOME TODAY!_

By the time I get to work, it's barely ten a.m. and I am already exhausted from the strenuous task of being happy in the morning. But it doesn't matter because (and I feel like the whole office should sing it with me), _Edward comes home today!_ Now that the cat is out of the bag and my foot is out of my mouth, it's pretty much general office knowledge that Edward and I are together. By eleven, just as the monotony of the day is setting in, everyone knows that _Edward comes home today!_

It's just a few minutes later that I receive a text from him.

_You remember when you were studying for your GREs?_

I make a face and reply, _Ugh yeah. The exam was two days before Christmas._

_That was the year we all went to Vegas to celebrate, right?_ he asks.

I smile at the memory. We all spent Christmas Day with our families before flying out Vegas that night. Emmett got so drunk he fell into the fountain at the Bellagio and is now banned from ever returning there. Jasper, on a bet from an inebriated Alice and Edward, walked into Caesar's on the hour, every hour one day, asking "You probably get asked this a lot, but did Caesar really live here?" until _he_ got banned from _there_.

I write back, _Yes! That was such an amazing trip. Pretty sure it's the only thing that got me through studying.  
_  
A few seconds later, he texts me back.

_Exactly. You feel like Christmas to me._

As if I needed to be any more enamored. If I could figure out how to bottle this feeling, I'd give it to all the saddest people in the world, like the people who don't win reality television dating shows. Or maybe the ones who do.

About an hour later, even though it feels like time has stopped, just as I'm really about to lose my mind—I'm talking 'sneaking around the office and setting all the clocks two hours ahead' crazy—Edward calls me, almost as if he senses this. We chat a bit until I am calm and feel like time may actually be moving again.

"So… yeah. Like I said, 10:00pm. Delta." For all his smoothness, it's hilarious how obvious it is that he wants me to come get him at the airport. I decide that I do want to do something, but not just that. I don't want to do anything that he would expect.

When we hang up, I wrack my brain, trying to come up with a great welcome back for him. Lots of incredibly stupid ideas come to mind, like singing telegrams or skywriting because apparently, I think I'm living in a romantic comedy where stuff like that is cute. Actually, scratch that, I don't even find stuff like that cute in movies.

So I go back to thinking. _What does Edward like?_

Two things immediately come to mind: Edward likes me. And Edward likes sex.

And then a third thing: Edward likes sex with me.

Luckily I'm quite partial to that—sex with Edward, I mean. Sex with myself is fine, but it's kind of like eating a Snickers bar when you could be having Godiva truffles with Lindt sprinkled over it and Cadbury's in the center—_and_ a Snickers bar on top.

A plan formulates in my head as I go to the vending machine and grab a Snickers (purely coincidental, of course). It's the kind of plan that makes me very nervous but also kind of excited. I remember that in the back of my closet, still in the fantastically intricate box it came in, is a set of lingerie. It's the only lingerie I own—I bought it when Rose, Alice, and I went to one of those high end stores once. The saleswoman gave us champagne and seemed so sweet while the other two were trying stuff on. Then, while I sat there, she plied with me with drink after drink until I was inebriated enough to be convinced to buy something. I knew I should never have trusted someone whose name was "Chignon." I don't even know how to pronounce "Chignon."

That lingerie has been sitting in the box because I've never had any occasion to wear it. I could wear tonight and meet Edward at the airport. That would take care of the "me" part. Then I could take him home and jump his bones. That would take care of the "sex" part.

Part of me thinks that it is ridiculous, that it is _so_ not me to dress up in lingerie for a guy; but then again, maybe that's the biggest surprise of it all. Edward would _never _expect me to do that. He'd probably expect me to come home with him and then sit on his couch, eating the contents of his freezer—which to be honest, is pretty much spot on.

But the idea of surprising Edward, of surprising myself, is more appealing. The nerves, the anticipation—they're already there, just from knowing I'll get to see him soon. This just heightens it. And I can't deny it; I know Edward finds me attractive. Just imagining the look on his face… it seals it for me.

As if sensing this perfect plan of mine, Rosalie calls a few moments later.

After we get through the pleasantries, she says, "So Alice's birthday is tomorrow. Al-stravangaza 2011."

Yes, that's what Alice calls her birthday. She is exuberant and enthusiastic on a normal day. But every year, on this one day, she turns into the Birthday Girl from Hell. We thought about entering her into a special episode of that Sweet Sixteen show on MTV. It's fine; we indulge her. It's what friends do, and generally, I don't mind. But this year, it's spectacularly bad timing since her birthday falls during a period when all I want to do is lock Edward and myself in an apartment and attempt my first—or I suppose, if we count Valentine's Day, second—sex marathon.

"Yeah, I know," I say. I realize that because I was extra busy at work I haven't seen any of the others all week. I miss Edward, but I miss them, too. I am actually kind of looking forward to celebrating Al's birthday.

"So you know the tradition," Rose says, and I groan inwardly. I _do_ know the tradition Alice demands, that we all hang out the night before her birthday and do a countdown. God forbid New Year's have that honor and Alice's birth not. "Come over to our place around 11:30?"

"Well, what about Edward?" I say, trying to buy myself some time as I do a quick calculation in my head. Skipping Alice's birthday is not an option. Even if she'd let us, I'd never put a guy before any of my friends—even if the guy _is_ one of my friends. Doesn't mean I can't try and sneak in a quickie before, though. "His flight—"

"—lands at 10pm," Rosalie interrupts. "So he should be back in the city by 11:15 at the latest, even if traffic is bad."

If I can get Edward immediately from the airport and there's no traffic, we might be able to make it back to his place by 10:45pm; and Alice lives only ten minutes away from him, so if we try and get to her place by 11:40, that gives us a whole forty five minutes. _  
_

"So he'll just come straight to our place," Rosalie says. I begin to think, _Oh, he'll come alright,_but then halt the thought as I realize I'm talking to his sister while thinking about this. That's something we're going to have to deal with—whenever we tell the others, it's going to be weird when Rosalie realizes I'm having sex with her brother. A lot.

After work, I go home and literally expunge every single hair from my body except for those above my eyes and on my head. This process includes a lot of swearing and complaining about my genes—dark hair and light skin are a terrible combination—as well as being female.

When I try the bra and underwear set on and look in the mirror, I'm pleasantly surprised. Despite my cheese-eating tendencies, I actually have to thank the genes I was just cursing, because I look fairly good in it. Very good, in fact. When I look at my boobs in this bra, I kind of get why Edward is so crazy about them. Of course, it's a little uncomfortable, and the lace and bows sort of show through when I throw my shirt over it, but it'll all be worth it.

—|—

When I get to the airport, I stand with all the chauffeurs with signs, right up against the plexi-glass barrier that separates the arriving passengers from whoever is waiting to pick them up. To my left, there's an impossibly tall, slightly scary looking guy whose named tag reads Demetri; he holds a sign a sign for a "Mr. Miyage", which makes me think, _wax on, wax off_... which makes me wince thinking about the wax off I did earlier. To my right, there is surly looking Felix, holding up a printed sign for Mr. Marcus Aro, CEO of the Volt & Uri Company.

And in between them, I stand with a sign, written in obnoxious red and green marker, that reads, "Merry Christmas, Redward Sullen". If I get only one chance in my life to use that name, this is going to be it.

The arrivals hall of the airport is not very full, and there's nothing to distract me as I wait for Edward's plane to land. I feel that nervousness that goes hand in hand with anticipation bubble up inside of me, making my stomach twist and turn, making me feel almost sick with the weight of waiting. But it's such a good thing I'm waiting for that I feel like even if I _did_ throw up, I'd be throwing up nice stuff like rainbows and heart emoticons.

I get tired of standing after a few minutes, so I take a seat in one of the plastic chairs nearby, putting my sign down next to me. The chairs are so damn uncomfortable I think I'd actually prefer to stand. As I'm looking around for a coffee shop or somewhere more comfortable to sit, my eyes pass over the board with the arrivals announcements, and that's when I see it:

Edward's flight landed early, about fifteen minutes ago. He's probably through baggage claim and exiting the airport—_in the other terminal._

Forget blurting out that he's my boyfriend and showing up at the airport to surprise him, my next actions indicate just how head over heels I am for him. Bella Swan doesn't run. Not for an emergency, not for "fun", not even when she signed up for that half-marathon (she walked it the whole way). But Bella Swan is running for Edward Cullen.

She's also talking about herself in third person, which is mildly disturbing.

Still, I run as fast as I can (which is pretty slow), only remembering that I've forgotten my sign in the chair next to where I was sitting when I'm halfway to Terminal 2. I get to the arrivals area of the other terminal about ten minutes later and realize that my best bet would be to hopefully catch him still waiting in the taxi queue. I rush outside, but there's no sign of Edward anywhere as my eyes scan the space for a tall, messy thatch of his crazy colored hair.

I'm not quite sure why I'm freaking out so much. If I miss him at the airport, I can see him at home. But I want this moment, I want him to see that I came here for him because I couldn't stop thinking about him all day—all week, in fact—and I pull out my phone. The surprise doesn't matter to me anymore. I just want to see him.

That's when I get his text.

_Landed. Want to see you. Need to see you. _

And it's like one of those perfect moments, because as I read the text, I round the corner—and there he is.

I slow my run—okay, my spastic jog—to a walk and just soak up the sight of him, no damn computer screen between us. Nothing except about twenty feet of empty space between us. It's the strangest feeling because he's so familiar and yet it feels like I'm seeing him for the first time. He's handsome and happy like always, but this time, he's mine and that, _that _makes all the difference. I feel like everyone around me must be staring at him, watching him as I am, but that may be just because of how good I think he looks. Whether anyone else is actually looking, though, I wouldn't know. I can't take my eyes off him.

He's standing at the curb, a few feet away from the taxi queue, staring at the screen of his phone, probably waiting for my reply.

"Edward!" I call when I'm about ten feet away.

His head turns, and I register the look of surprise on his face as he sees me walk towards him. Then he smiles, and it feels like someone turned up all of the lights in the entire city. His smile is somehow ecstatic and shy and wide all at the same time, and I'm pretty sure I'm wearing the goofy version of it. _Seven feet away_. And right then, if for no other reason—and there are a _million_ other reasons—I adore him for realizing I'd want him like this even before I knew it myself. I adore him for how brave he's been, how good and sweet he was in putting himself out there, for not just believing, but _knowing_ that we'd get here. _Five feet away_.

Because I can't think a greater place I've ever been than here, this moment, with me walking into his arms, and him smiling back at me.

And thus my transition from Bella Swan, nutty, neurotic single girl, to Bella Swan, nutty, neurotic girlfriend is nearly complete.

I should write a book or something.

"Bella," he starts to say but before he can get another word out, I grasp the lapel of his coat and pull him to me. _No feet away. Here. _

Talking we can do later. Talking is all we _have_ been doing for far too long.

My fist still tightly wrapped around his coat, I use my other hand to bring his lips to mine and kiss him thoroughly. I feel his shock last a beat or two longer than I would expect, almost enough to make me freak out, but then he responds. I can hear the thump of his satchel as he lets it slide off his shoulder and fall to the floor so he can put his arms around me.

One hand slides up my back and into my hair as he kisses back, and as our lips meet again and again, it's like there is nothing before this—not our years of friendship, not the few crazy weeks of something more, not even the four days of separation. It's like this was always it; this was always where we'd end up, and it doesn't matter how we got here.

And when he parts his lips slightly, taking my top one between his, it's like there will be nothing after this, nothing but me and him and this ever-growing, unstoppable thing between us, being passed from him to me, from his mouth to mine. I may have started this kiss but he's been leading these past few weeks and I love everywhere he's taken me.

It's my turn, though. It's my chance to show him that he's not alone, that I am right there with him, so I kiss him back, first hard, then soft. I can't believe I've ever not found him sexy, especially when he makes a tiny noise from the back of his throat, a cross between and hum and a grunt, a noise that only I can hear, a noise that only I will make him make.

We finally pull away with three small kisses, at the end of which he mutters, "Hi" right against my lips. It makes me laugh, and I nudge my nose against his once, then once more, just because I can. Because he's here and he's mine.

I want to smile and say things to him, but I can't. He's just too close, he's _finally_ close, and I need to kiss him more. I think I might need to kiss him forever.

I'm in the middle of trying to achieve this when I hear a voice go, "Interesting," dragging out the first syllable.

I wrench my mouth away from Edward's and probably look like a Looney Tunes character with the way my eyes bug out when I see Emmett standing there, leaning against his car with a smile so smug it puts Edward to shame.

"What are you doing here?" I ask.

It occurs to me that my arms are still around Edward, though not quite in the tight embrace they were a few seconds ago. I really should move away, maybe try to salvage the situation, but I don't. It's possible it's because I know the jig is up; there's no way I can pass that off as a casual kiss to Emmett. But it's probably because I've missed Edward so damn much that I don't want to move away.

"Well," Emmett says, pushing off the car to walk towards us. "Since I'm the only one of us who has a car, I called Edward and told him I'd pick him up and give him a ride to Alice and Rose's place. Apparently you had a similar idea... Though by the looks of it, you had a different kind of ride in mind." He waggles his eyebrows.

"Har har har, you're so clever, Em," I say in a mock sycophantic voice.

"Thank you, B, I live to please you," he replies in the same tone. Then in his normal voice, he snickers, saying, "Oh, nope, that's Edward."

Speaking of, I turn to Edward. "Um… a little warning?" I tell him.

He snorts. "I was about to tell you when you kissed me!"

"You could have pulled away," I tell him.

"Not for a million dollars," he says, his eyes twinkling. I can't help but grin back at him.

"Awwww, you two are just so sweet," Emmett says. Even though his voice is teasing, I can tell he genuinely means it and I blush a little. "So how long has this been going on? From New Year's?"

"New Years?" Edward and I both ask, simultaneously confused.

"Yeah… you both had dates that mysteriously bailed—"

"My date got food poisoning!" Edward argues.

"I didn't really like mine that much so I told him I was staying in." I shrug, and Edward quirks his lips up at me.

"Yeah but you guys went together," Emmett argues.

"But not _together_ together," I reply.

"Well, you both disappeared, and we didn't see you till like… 3am," Emmett recounts.

"Victoria was at that bar! I didn't want to deal with her, so Quil gave us two bottles of champagne, and we snuck out back to drink them and got _wasted,_" Edward replies. "We rung in the New Year in an alley with some rats."

"Oh God." I shudder. "I forgot about the rats."

"Well, then, answer my question," Emmett interrupts impatiently. "When? Because Bella was talking about—" Suddenly his eyes go wide, and I should know what's coming next, but for some reason I don't anticipate it. "Oh shit! Edward! Oh shit!" He starts bouncing on his toes, giddy as a schoolboy. "You're the best she ever had!" He says it like he's informing Edward of something he doesn't already know.

I groan as Edward, reaching new levels of self-satisfaction, says, "Yes. Yes, I am." He punctuates each of his words with a sharp nod of his head while I can do nothing but shake my own. They high-five before grinning at me.

"_Damn_, E! The best. You're like _The Godfather _of sex. If sex was Star Wars, you'd be _The Empire Strikes Back_!"

Edward pretends to tear up. "That may be the nicest thing anyone has ever said to me, Em."

Emmett's eyes widen. "_That_'s why you were talking about that dude's dick!"

"Well... yeah." Edward actually looks a little sheepish.

"Whatever, man! Talk about that dude's dick all you want! The dude is you!" How Emmett can be so smug on Edward's behalf I don't know, but it must be one of those bro rules—always be a good wingman, never put the toilet seat down, and your sexual conquest is my sexual conquest. _Boys_.

"He's not the only one," I interrupt defiantly. "I was—" _and will be_ "—his best, too!"

They both burst out laughing, and I huff, grabbing Edward's suitcase and putting it in the trunk of Emmett's car, just to escape their infuriating male egos. They calm down and then follow me. Edward and I both move to sit in the backseat.

"Oh no. Hell no," Emmett says. "One of you get in the passenger seat. I'm not going to sit in the front while you two cuddle and shit in the back."

"But… but… but… " I sputter. _But I want to hold his hand. And maybe stare at his face creepily. It's my right as a girlfriend!_

"Dude," Edward says, injecting just the right amount of pleading into his one syllable. "We haven't seen each other all week."

"I haven't seen you either, E!" Emmett says. "Maybe I missed you, too! You never thought about that, huh?"

"Emmett, if you missed me in the way that she's missed me, I'd rather not think about it at all," Edward deadpans.

Emmett rolls his eyes. "Fucking hell. Fine. Get in." We pile into the car and crank up the heat, having forgotten about the cold in the excitement of reunion. "I feel like a goddamn chauffeur," he mutters.

"We'll tip you well," I tell him.

"What were you planning to do anyway, Bella?" Emmett asks. "Hop in a cab and have a quickie before you went to Alice's?"

The underwire of the lingerie I am wearing digs into my ribs, and I wince as I reply, "Pretty much."

Edward turns his head and beams at me, his smile so wide it melts my heart a little; you'd think I'd planed some elaborate welcome back soiree. But no, he's just happy to get a quickie from me. I can't stay away from him anymore, so I reach for his hand, stroking the back of his palm with my thumb.

Emmett snorts. "It's already 10:40. You would have never made it; unless Edward's a _real_ quickie."

Edward hurls some quip back, but I'm too busy rolling my eyes at these boys; one second, they're high-fiving each other over their prowess in bed, the next they're giving each other shit. I'll never understand guys.

I'm even more distracted when I discover that Edward's hand is seriously addicting. Or rather, holding his hand, touching his skin is addicting. I wanted it to be enough, because I know now is not the time, but the roughness of his hands, the feel of his long fingers wrapped around mine, knowing that if I'm close enough to touch his hand, I'm close enough to touch the rest of him—it just makes me want more. It's like when you know there's something delicious you shouldn't eat, and you're like, 'I'll just take _one_ bite, because _one_ bite will actually help me not be tempted anymore.' But then one bite leads to two, and two bites lead to four and before you know it, you've eaten the half of the cake you just baked for Rose's birthday. Or you're making out with your boyfriend in the back of Emmett's car.

"Dude! Guys, come _on_!" Emmett pleads, and I reluctantly pull away. Edward keeps me close to him, sliding his arm around me and tucking me into the side of his body. I'm just so excited he's here. Nothing, not even the shit-eating grin he's wearing could keep me from touching him.

"I think we should keep this between the three of us," I say, abruptly, realizing that we haven't quite talked about the full implications of Emmett knowing about us.

Edward frowns down at me as Emmett whines, "Why not? I can't _wait_ to see the look on their faces! It'll be _just_ like Star Wars!" He lowers his voice and covers his mouth with one hands, making a hissing noise. "Luke, I am your father. Guys, Edward and Bella are dating."

"That will _not_ be happening. We're not going to say anything."

"Maybe I should go with Yoda," Emmett muses. He makes that weird Yoda voice as he says, "Fucking, Edward and Bella are."

I roll my eyes. "It's not forever," I say, looking at Edward to reassure him. "Not even for that long. Just for now, because it's Alice's birthday and I don't want to steal her thunder."

Emmett nods slowly. "Yeah, okay, I get that. I can keep my mouth shut." He meets my eye in the rear view mirror. "The question is, can _you_ keep your mouths to yourselves?"

"We could if you'd just let us get it out of our systems right now," I tell Emmett.

"No way, Bella. I don't need to know you two are doing whatever in the back of my car. That shit is gross."

"Oh, because it was so enjoyable when you were doing it_ with my sister_," Edward retorts. I inwardly fist pump. _Yes! We have a leg to stand on_.

Emmett seems to realize this too and softens his expression. "Point taken."

"Hey," I say, quietly to Edward. I slip my arm around his shoulders and play with the soft hair right behind his ear. "You're okay with that, right? Not telling anyone?"

He leans his head into my hand and rubs his thumb across my other hand, which he's still holding. "Yeah, that's okay." He's silent for a moment before he takes a sharp breath and says, "For awhile."

I nod. "For a while."

"For a short while."

I smile. "For a short while."

"For a _really_—"

"Soon." I hold his eyes as I nod as he smiles, nodding back. I run my hand through his hair. Again, just because I can. I can do so, so much with him. I can do everything.

A little while later, Emmett pulls up to the curb outside Rose and Alice's apartment building, dropping us off before going to look for parking.

We wait in the lobby of the building for him to come back so we can go upstairs together.

"I'm not trying to rush you, you know that right?" Edward says, concern in his voice. He grabs my hand and starts playing with my fingers, tugging and twirling and curling his around them.

"I know," I reply.

"I just..." He shrugs and lets out a sigh. "I've got you now. I don't want to waste time lying or hiding when I could spend it being with you."

I think I melt a little at his words; it feels like my insides are giving themselves a hug. I cup his cheek and run my thumb over his lips, where his sweet words and sweeter kisses come from. When I look into his eyes, I still see worry there, and I think I understand it. Even if _he's_ so sure about us, he isn't as confident that _I_ am as sure, and I can see it, the slight fear that I'm just going to find this too overwhelming and pull away.

I'm not good with words—hell, I've just started grasping the concept of feelings—so instead, I try and tell him the only way I can think. I slip my arms around him and kiss him, hoping he finds reassurance in the way I can barely think, barely even breathe because I'm so focused, so floored by the feeling of his mouth on mine.

I pull away a few seconds later, and he leans down, resting his forehead against mine. He's smiling lightly, and I notice a tiny laugh line right next to the corner of his mouth. All this time, I thought I knew everything about him. But there's this whole other Edward, sweet and vulnerable, charming and boob-obsessed that I've gotten to see lately; I can't wait to get to know _him_ as well as I know my best friend Edward.

Oh and naked Edward. I really, _really_ can't wait to get to know him better.

"Hello girlfriend," he says, his lips moving against my mouth.

I laugh and don't even bother to move away, just wanting to touch any part of him that I can.

"You are such a girl, Cullen."

"Why?" he asks, feigning outrage and looking so, so cute. Or maybe it's just because I can feel the wrinkles on his forehead as he changes his expression, but whatever it is, it's fantastic.

"_'Hello girlfriend'_," I mimic. "Such a girly thing to say."

He rolls his eyes, and I feel it as his eyelashes sweep up then down. "One of us has to be the girl in the relationship," he says, shrugging. "I've come to terms with the fact that it's probably going to have to be me."

I laugh. "Whatever, I'm very girly when it comes to you."

"Oh yeah? Show me," he demands.

So I do, acting on the one impulse I feel so strongly in my bones that I think I might start shaking if I don't do it soon. I throw my arms around his neck and just hug him, so close that it might be uncomfortable, but I don't care. He tightens his arms around me and hugs me right back, burying his face in the side of my neck. He's tall, so I'm reaching up on my tip-toes but he hugs me tightly enough to help me balance.

"Yeah," he admits quietly, his lips moving right below my ear. "You're definitely a girl."

"I didn't I used to be," I reply. "What have you done to me, Cullen?"

He pulls away so he can see my face. "So if we're both being girls and you're okay with it... does that mean you're okay with girl-on-girl action?"

I roll my eyes. "Never mind. You're definitely a guy."

He laughs and hugs me tightly once more, kissing my shoulder where his lips touch it. After a few seconds, he says, "This is nice."

"It is, isn't it?" I agree.

"Yeah. I can totally feel your breasts," he says, and he laughs as I push him away and smack his shoulder.

"_Such_ a guy."

"Come here." He tugs on my hand and pulls me back into his arms before I can move too far away. "Make out with me?"

"Are you asking?" I say, laughing.

He nods and puts that adorable puppy dog face on. "I am. I've had a really long week and—" I don't even need to hear his second reason. Hell, I didn't even need to hear his first one.

When we come up for air a few minutes later, he rests his forehead against mine and says, "Well, if I'm not going to have sex tonight, at least I get that."

I pull away slightly and give him a questioning look. "You're not having sex tonight?"

"Uhhh, it's Alice's birthday. Or it will be in like... forty-three minutes. Have you forgotten what Brandon birthdays are like?"

I groan. "I think I've been suppressing the memory for the past three and sixty four days."

"It's all Alice for the next twenty four hours. We'll be lucky if she lets us leave here before dawn," he says. He's completely right; a few years ago, when Alice's birthday fell on a Saturday, she let us all get five hours of sleep. The _entire_ weekend.

Emmett comes back right then, rolling Edward's suitcase behind him.

"Hey E, you forgot to take your suitcase," he says.

"Oh, sorry," Edward says, moving to take it. Emmett waves him away and carries it easily up the stairs into the lobby of Rose and Alice's building before we pile into the elevator.

"You know, it's really cool of you guys to still be here," Emmett notes.

"What do you mean?" I ask.

"I mean, you haven't been alone in what—five days? It'd be so easy to blow this off."

Edward frowns. "We'd never do that. Mostly because she'd murder us, but also because, y'know, we like her and stuff. "

"Yeah, but it's not like she's _not_ going to be celebrating tomorrow night with all of us."

"Why does it sound like you're trying to convince us to skip this?" I ask, teasing.

Emmett shakes his head. "Nah, it's just nice that you guys are still putting friends first."

Edward shrugs. "We were friends first." He glances at me. "I don't know if there's any other way we would be putting it."

I smile because I couldn't have said it better myself.

We reach our floor and Emmett steps out of the elevator. I move to follow him, but Edward grabs my arm and pulls me back. Jabbing the "door close" button, he yells, "Just wait one second, Emmett!" as the elevator shuts.

"What are you—"

But I can't finish my sentence as he moves towards me and kisses me forcefully, walking us backwards until my back is against the wall of the elevator. Out of the corner of my eye, I see him press the button for the top floor and somewhere within his kiss, I hear the ding when we reach and he presses Rosalie & Alice's floor again.

But that's all in the periphery. Noises, breathing, anything other than him seems to mute. With both hands on my face, he tilts my chin up and kisses me thoroughly. I can't tell what feels harder, the wall against my back or his body, pressed against the front of mine.

I've never been kissed like this, his lips so soft as they press hard and ardent against my mouth. I've never felt so wanted, so needed, so thoroughly immersed in the way someone else is feeling. His hands are still on my face, his shoulders hunched almost like he's trying to pour himself into me with this one kiss. One of his thumbs strokes my cheek while the other rests on my chin, coaxing it down so my mouth can open to his. I do just that, tightening my arms around his body, curving them up to clutch his shoulders from behind, arching my back so my chest is pressed against his.

His tongue strokes mine, and I can't even think. No thought. All my effort goes into keeping my spine from melting and my toes from bursting off my feet, because I feel his kiss all the way there, in every part of me.

Then the elevator dings, signaling we're back on Rose and Alice's floor again, and he pulls away abruptly just as the doors open to an impatient Emmett.

"So much for 'friends first'," Emmett quips good-naturedly, even as he rolls his eyes at both of us.

"Sorry, I just needed to get that out of my system," Edward says, his voice a little hoarse. I'm not sure if he's talking to me or Emmett. He steps out of the elevator, cracking his neck and rolling his shoulders, flicking his bottom lip with his thumb twice. I've never wanted to be a finger this badly before. I don't really think I've ever wanted to be a finger before at all, now that I think about it.

I just stand there, leaning against the wall, gripping on the railing for dear life, wondering, 'What about _my_ system?'

I step out of the elevator shakily, and we walk down the hall towards the girls' apartment. Emmett raises his hand to knock on the door before pausing and looking at us. His eyes linger over me, and he says:

"You might want to wipe that look off your face, Bella."

"What look?"

"Like you're Paula Deen and he's a stick of butter."

I roll my eyes. "Shut up. I do not look like that."

Emmett knocks on the door. "If you say so."

Edward turns to me, his eyes sweeping over my face and says, "You kind of do."

I flip him off and mutter, "Well, whose fault is that?"

Rose opens the door and lets us in. Emmett walks in, and Edward motions with his hand, saying, "Ladies first."

As I walk in front of him, he pinches my ass, making me yelp.

"You okay, Bella?" Rose asks, turning around. Emmett simply shakes his head and continues walking.

I shoot a dirty look at Edward as I mutter, "I'm fine." The minute Rosalie's back is turned, he winks and reaches to do it again. I jerk forward, slamming into Rose.

"What the hell, Bella?" she asks.

"Sorry. I just... I tripped," I say, sighing as we walk down the narrow hallway that leads to the living room. I can see Edward's smirk out of the corner of my eyes—it's going to be a long night.

But, for once, I have retaliation. I stop and turn around right before we turn into the living room; Rose and Emmett have already walked in and we're obscured from view by the wall.

I take off my coat and Edward raises his eyebrows. Then I unbutton my shirt and—with no shame and a lot of smugness—show him my bra. He goes very still as his smirk fades and his eyes get really wide. Seemingly of its own volition, his hand slowly reaches up to touch me.

"You _could_ have had this tonight; instead, you're—"

"Eeeeeeee! Thirty minutes till my birthday! Thirty minutes, people! One thousand eight hundred seconds!" Alice screeches, with perfect timing. I swat Edward's hand, which has stopped mid-air, and button up my shirt quickly.

I crack my neck and roll my shoulders and as I walk into sight of the rest of our friends, I call back to Edward:

"Sorry. Had to get that out of my system."

—|—

_I wake up a few hours later, still pressed tightly to your back, your arm holding __me__ to you. I think it might have been the sun streaming in through a gap in the curtain that woke me up and the sheer nearness of you makes it impossible to fall back asleep. You're slightly restless, and when I start kissing down the back of your neck, you clutch my hand tighter as if to tell me to keep going._

_The thought to stop never even occurred to me._

_Soon, the way I move and the way you move back against me takes on that very particular rhythm. I slide the boxers you are wearing down and wonder if you'll let me do it this way. All of you_—_from the top of your spine to your calves to where your toes are flexing on top of mine_—_is touching me. There's just so much skin, so much tasty, touchable skin, and then even more when my hand reaches around your front, sliding down your breasts to the soft flesh of your abdomen, while I suck on the outside of your shoulder._

_ Then you're arching your back and whispering my name, but I can't listen because it's so good and I want it to go for just a little longer._

_With a long sigh, you curve your back so it's up against my chest again. We're a little less frantic and I'm obsessed with the way you're moving, the way your hips and ass roll against me, the way you feel around me. I skim my free hand all over you, anywhere and everywhere that I want to touch_—_the outside of your thigh, the underside of your breast, the inside of your arm. And then you take my hand and show me __where__ you want me to touch you. You sigh when I do.  
_

_As that frantic need __to go faster and harder and more and even more __picks up again, there's this sudden, short moment when I am sure I am falling in love with you. Then the moment passes, and both that feeling and I are lost in you._

* * *

One more chapter and then the epilogue.

**americnxidiot** is the hottest hobo ever. yes. ever. may the flannel gods bless her for the rest of her days.

you guys are the best, best, best. you make this so much fun and I can't say enough thank yous. I love hearing whatever you want to say. Tell me, what's your equivalent to _The Empire Strikes Back. _Or tell me how to pronounce 'chignon', because I really don't know.


	11. Chapter 11

At long last, a long last chapter.

Happy birthday, **americnxidiot**! May _all_ your wishes come true—especially the ones we shouldn't talk about outside of gchat.

* * *

Chapter 11.

I wake up first the next morning. It sucks because my apartment is the farthest from Alice and Rose's, and I have to be in extra early today. I went to bed the earliest—which was still at 3am—so I'm interested to see how sleeping arrangements worked out. I crashed in Alice's room, and she's still out next to me; in the living room, I find Edward and Jasper passed out on the couches... which means Rose and Em shared her room.

As Emmett said last night, _interesting_.

The sight in the living room is nothing I haven't seen a million times, after we've wound up crashing at someone's place. But my heart flips anyway. Jasper's on one couch, dead to the world. I swear that boy could sleep through a vuvuzela-airhorn-bagpipe trio. On the other couch—sprawled on his stomach, his feet dangling off one end, his arms draped all over—l is Edward. His head is turned facing me, his mouth slightly open, and his nose and cheeks are still a bit sunburned.

I sit down at the edge of the couch and debate whether to wake him up or not. I'm fairly sure that sleeping is one of the greatest things in the world; it's probably just below Edward and consuming vast quantities of food on my list of favorite things to do, so I'm not sure there is a good way to wake someone up. I mean, is there a good way to take away bacon from a person? No. You're the terrible person that takes away a lovely thing from someone.

It's quite possible that this line of reasoning is proof that I lost my mind around the same time I lost my heart and I almost don't want to wake him. But, I'm greedy and maybe a little selfish and I've missed him too much.

I run my fingers through his hair, brushing away the errant strands that have fallen on his face. He lets out a quiet hum in his sleep… and then turns his head to the other side. Trying to forget about that article that Alice once made me read in _Cosmo_ called "Sleep Rejection: What His Snores Are Telling You That He Isn't", I run my hand down the side of his neck, shaking his shoulder lightly to wake him up.

Nothing.

It's at this point that my patience wears out, and I give up on waking him with loving caresses. After all, I can caress him lovingly once he's awake and that's _so_ much better. Shaking his shoulder forcefully, I wait until his movements indicate consciousness. He turns his head back towards me, maybe sensing the body sitting next to him.

He opens his eyes and looks up at me, then closes them again. A few seconds later, he repeats this motion, opening them once more, then closing them. This time, he keeps them closed but lets the biggest, sweetest smile spread across his face. Then finally, he opens his eyes again and grins at me, making my heart twist and leap in ways that would put ballet dancers to shame.

He slips his arm around me and pulls himself closer to me, burying his face in the side of my thigh.

"Edward," I whisper. "I have to go to work."

"Okay," he mumbles, kissing the skin on my hip where my shirt has ridden up slightly. He doesn't move away though. "Have a good day."

He's so unbelievably cute with his hair everywhere and his still-red nose. I imagine waking up to this every morning, and the thought fills me with a kind of giddiness normally reserved for five year olds at their birthday parties or teenyboppers. _Maybe I'll actually become a morning pers—no_. I can't even finish that thought. _Let's stick to attainable goals_.

I gently tug on his arm; in response, he tightens it against me. "Edward, you have to let me go."

"No, never," he says, moving his head into my lap.

I can't not smile, and I brush the hair away from his face before I press on the tip of his nose. He cracks one eye open.

"Fine. Go to work. The sooner you go to work," he says, rolling onto his back and off my lap, "the sooner you can come home and have sex with me."

I roll my eyes. "You mean the sooner I go to work, the sooner we can all go to that bar Alice has been talking about on Washington Street."

He groans. "I forgot."

"You forgot it was Alice's birthday? For a whole thirty seconds?"

"Shit, don't tell her."

"She'd make you celebrate for thirty seconds of tomorrow."

He sits up and rubs his eyes with the heels of his hands. The motion makes him look like a little boy, but he's not wearing a shirt and his sunburn has faded away into an amazing golden color, which makes him look deliciously like a man. "Alright. Al's thing today will be fun."

"Yeah, it will be a good time," I agree.

"But let's talk about something important," he says.

It's a little early in the morning for heavy discussion but being near him has put me in a good mood, so I say, "Sure."

He swings his legs off the couch so he's sitting next to me. "When do I get to have sex with you?"

I laugh. "What you want to schedule it?"

"Well, why not, since it doesn't seem to be happening spontaneously."

"You're going to give me a complex that all you want is sex," I tell him jokingly, nudging his shoulder.

He rolls his eyes. "Please. You should only have a complex if I wasn't sex-obsessed after seeing you in lingerie." He closes his eyes, sitting back on the couch and groans. "Holy motherfuck, that was hot."

I swear, if Edward keeps on with these sweet words, I'm going to be smugger than him soon.

"Tonight," I tell him. "After Al's party. We're going to have a different type of sleepover."

He grins. "Alright." He pulls me in for a light kiss and then immediately asks, "And after that?"

I laugh again and then drag my lips to his ear and say, "Tomorrow."

"When tomorrow?"

For once, I am the one smirking as I get up off the couch, saying, "_All_ of tomorrow."

—|—

The workday is a waste. I swear, they should just send me home. I'm so starry-eyed, I'm surprised that I haven't started doodling "Bella Swan isn't ready for the L-word but really, really, _really_ likes Edward Cullen" all over these printouts Carmen asked me to look over.

It's not helped one bit when Edward stops by the office to surprise me for lunch. Even more surprising is the absolutely enormous bouquet in his hands; I'm not particularly good with flower names, but they're that kind that are pretty and brightly colored and… have petals. And holy crap, there's a lot of them. It looks like it could make three decent sized bouquets. I can't even see his face or torso, just his arms looking fantastically tanned with his shirt-sleeves rolled up and his long, long legs.

"Edward!" I say, an uncontrollable grin spreading across my face. "What is all this?"

He lowers his arms slightly and cranes his neck so his face pops into view. "Hi." He's grinning too.

"Hi." I rake my eyes over the bushels in his hands. "You didn't need to get me flowers."

He grins wider. "I didn't." He walks past me to Angela's desk, separating his arms to reveal that it's actually two bouquets. As he's laying it on her desk and she's squealing, "These are for me?" with delight, Carmen pops out of her office.

"Edward!" she greets fondly.

He turns to her, and I know that smile. I think I started dating him because of that smile—and that was through a computer screen when he was three thousand miles away. The danger of the charm in that smile in person is unmatched.

"Hello Carmen," he says, warmly. He hands her the other bouquet. It nearly dwarfs her tiny stature. Edward casually moves to sit at the edge of Angela's desk as the three of us stare of him, jaws agape. "What?" he asks, his head turning as he notices all three of our expressions.

"The flowers?" I say, trying to sound as neutral as possible. I can tell by the way the corners of his lips quirk up that he caught the edge of envy in my voice.

He shrugs and arches an eyebrow. "Are you saying that Carmen and Angela don't deserve flowers simply for being the lovely women they are?" He puts one hand on Angela's shoulder as he says this.

I open my mouth to retort—but can't find anything to say. The smug bastard's got me. I'll either sound like the jealous girlfriend or like Carmen and Angela _don't_ deserve flowers—or knowing my mouth's affinity with my foot, both.

"Really, Edward," Carmen says with this breathy chuckle that I've only heard her use after six p.m at bars filled with rich stockbrokers. "What _are _the flowers for?"

His smile shrinks in size but not in meaning, and he's not looking at Carmen or Angela, but straight at me when he says, "For setting me up with Gianna, of course."

I can see Angela and Carmen exchange a knowing smile in my peripheral vision, but you couldn't give me all the flowers in the world to look away from Edward right now.

"Is that so?" Angela says slyly, and we break our trance. We're grinning like such morons that Edward is biting the inside of his cheek to control his smile. I turn toward my desk and literally lift stacks of paper and then drop them in the same place, just to have something else to do besides smile like I'm in an Invisalign commercial. My heart is beating so, so fast and that giddy feeling where my toes are tap-dancing is back.

"Sure," Edward replies, somehow smug again. "Best date I never went on."

Angela giggles and says, "Only you could not go on the date and _still_ get the girl, Edward."

I groan and swivel my chair to face them again. "Really, Angela? I realize that he's the love of your life—"

"Of my _existence_, Bella," she corrects. Edward and her grin good-naturedly at each other.

I roll my eyes. "Whatever. Do you really have to boost his ego like that? He's already kind of insufferable."

"You're clearly just jealous because you didn't get flowers," Carmen says.

Before the girls can keep him here for my entire lunch hour—and I have little doubt they would, since they're looking at him like he's a cross between a teddy bear and vibrator—l stand up and take his arm. Edward says goodbye, and we walk to the elevator.

"I _am_ kind of jealous," I confess.

He raises his eyebrows and looks a little worried. Taking my hand, he says, "I just always thought you didn't particularly like flowers—"

"I don't," I assure him because I don't, really. I mean, they're pretty to look at, but I never remember to water anything and they just wither and make a mess eventually. "But I mean—Angela and Carmen get giant bouquets of flowers, and you couldn't even bring me back some In 'n Out?"

I once considered moving to California just so I could eat In 'n Out burgers with animal-style sauce whenever I wanted. Edward knows this because he was the person that I almost drunkenly booked flight tickets with.

He laughs and tugs on our hands so I stand closer to him. "If it makes you feel better, I ate enough for the both of us." He rubs his stomach—his very flat, hard stomach—with his free hand.

"It doesn't," I grouse.

We step into the elevator, and he kisses me on the forehead. "You're just hungry, so you're grumpy." He's kind of right. "Let's get you some lunch."

"It won't be animal style," I mutter.

He smirks. "Not lunch, but we can see about other things."

—|—

"Tell us."

"No."

"Tell us."

"No."

"Tell us."

"No."

Somehow, I'm back here again. We're at the bar to celebrate, and it's late in the evening—or maybe early in the night. I've lost track of time a bit. Alice and Rose are badgering me to tell them who I slept with, Edward's not here because he's still at work, and Jasper's eyeing the whole exchange, looking rather drunk already. The only difference between now and two weeks ago is the smug grin on Emmett's face.

"Can you just at least answer one question about him?" Alice pleads. "For my birthday."

"You already tried to get me to tell you as your birthday gift, Al," I remind her.

She nods. "I know! I'm not asking you to tell me; just answer one question."

I eye her warily. Alice's 'just one's have a way of turning into multiples; like the night before my interview for my current job, where "just one drink" turned into eight and I threw up in the trashcan outside my future office. Or when she made me to go to the gym with her and "just one more sit-up" turned into thirty; the only reason it wasn't fifty is not because I actually started crying, but because I couldn't breathe through the snot.

"Fine," I say, sighing.

"Does his name begin with a 'j'?" she asks.

I shake my head. "No. And that's your—"

"Does it begin with an 'a'?" So much for one question.

"No."

"Does it begin with a 'd'?"

"No."

"Does it begin with an 'e'?"

"Is he living in a tree?" Emmett pipes up.

"Is he even a _he_?" Jasper adds.

"I do not like green eggs and ham," Emmett quotes.

"I do not like them, Sam I am!" Jasper finishes and they crack up. It occurs to me that Jasper must already be quite drunk to be rhyming, but I can't help but laugh along with them. I shoot Emmett a grateful look for intervening when he did.

"I just don't get it!" Alice whines. "Why won't you tell us?"

"You know Bella," Emmett says, sounding serious. "Some famous did once say, secrets… secrets are no fun. Secrets… secrets hurt someone."

I make a face. What a turncoat. "Benjamin Franklin once said 'three can keep a secret if two are dead.'" I try and make my face look as threatening as possible, which means I probably look like a Teletubby with indigestion.

"So what you're saying is you'd rather kill us than tell us?" Rosalie says, arching her eyebrow just like her brother does. It's not as sexy though.

"I'm saying I'd tell you… but then I'd have to kill you," I say, grinning.

"Some French dude once said, 'Secrecy is best taught by starting with ourselves'," Emmett offers.

"Wait, why are we quoting people all of a sudden?" Alice asks, which I'm beginning to wonder too.

"Em, does this mean you finally read the book on French writers I lent you?" Jasper asks.

Emmett snorts. "Not really. I was looking for something to read on the can and found it, so I tried a couple pages. It's alright for a shit read."

"I'll never understand that," Alice says. "You know what I like to do when I poop? Poop!"

"That is a dirty fucking lie, Alice!" Emmett roars. We all look at him, surprised to see him so ferocious about anything. "Girls don't poop and you know it."

Rose, Alice and I roll our eyes, possibly in synchronization. "So… what?" I ask. "Girls don't have asses?"

"Oh, they have asses," Emmett says. "I like girls' asses very much."

Alice shakes her head in exasperation. "So they just don't have anuses? Or um… anii?" She looks at me, like I should know the plural of anuses.

I don't.

"'Anus' is such an ugly word," Jasper muses to himself from his corner. Talking to himself is a sure sign that Jasper is drunk.

"I know girls have anuses." Emmett grins lewdly.

Highly unnecessarily, Rose adds, "Emmett likes girls' anuses very much."

"Oh god." All of us turn to the owner of the voice only to see Edward, looking as traumatized as that time he was home for Christmas and called me nearly crying because he heard Esme and Carlisle having sex. I spent the whole phone call making loud noises so he couldn't replay it in his head. "I need some rubbing alcohol to erase that from my mind."

"I think if you order the cheapest vodka they serve here, it'll have the same effect," Emmett supplies helpfully. Edward just holds up his hands, shaking his head from side to side as if he's not quite ready yet.

"I'm going to go to the bathroom and try to vomit out my short term memory," he says. "Someone order me a drink. Or nine, please."

Even in his disgusted state, he catches my eye and holds my gaze for a few seconds. The way his eyes rake over me make me feel like he is touching me everywhere he looks. He quickly darts his eyes to the left, and I can tell that means he wants me to follow after him, so once a few minutes have passed and everyone's deep in conversation, I excuse myself to get another drink.

I catch him in the hallway at the back of the bar, coming out of the men's room.

"Hi," I say, more of a breath than an actual word.

He doesn't even bother with that and just pulls me to him. It's almost a little rough—or it would be if it wasn't Edward because his mouth is insistent but gentle, tugging on my top lip, sucking on my bottom one, coaxing my mouth open until I have no doubt that the only thing that is going to be on our minds for the rest of this night is what will come after it. By the time he pulls away, I can feel my pulse everywhere; slamming in my chest, in my neck, behind my knees and ten little heartbeats on the tips of each of my fingers where they've curled around his neck and into the bottom of his hair.

I'm not sure I'm even standing up by myself, I have somehow wound my arms around him so tightly. "What are you doing to me?" I ask, burying my face in his neck and kissing his Adam's apple.

He lets out a small sigh and says, "Nothing you're not doing right back."

"We better go back out there," I say, sighing.

He nods, and we pull apart slightly. He rakes his hands through my hair where he's just messed it up, and we go from smiling lightly at each other to our big, goofy grins.

"Alright, I'm going to the bar. I'll get you a beer too," I tell him.

"Thanks. Hoegaarden?" he requests.

"You got it."

"Hey Bella," he calls when I'm a few feet away from him. I turn back to see he's got a different kind of smile now. His hands are shoved in his pockets and he's leaning against the wall—his body language is a strange mix of ease and anticipation as he says, "Tonight."

I should probably quit my job and join the cast of _Westside Story_ because of the way I sing that word in my head. But I manage to control myself, just smiling back and saying, "Tonight."

—|—

Much, much later in the night, we're all drunker—except for Edward and me—and have scattered a little. Rosalie and Alice, who has found a light up tiara that blinks 'birthday girl', are on the tiny dance floor near the side of the bar, and Emmett and Edward are playing darts at the back. Jasper disappeared to the bathroom ten minutes ago, and when I search around, I see him at the bar by himself.

"Hey, J," I say, sliding into the space next to him

My greeting doesn't seem to register. Instead, he just turns towards me and tilts his head to one side, staring at me curiously, like he's never quite seen me before.

"Bella," he slurs.

"Jasper."

"Bella, Bella, Bella."

"Jas, Jas, Jas."

"Bella, I'm in love."

_Whoa_. _What?_ I have no time to ask Jasper to clarify before he takes my face in each of his hands and pulls it towards his. I'm about to panic that he's going to try and kiss me when he stops, with a mere inch between our faces.

He squeezes my cheeks so my lips pucker out like a fish and sighs. I think this is the drunkest I've ever seen Jasper, which knowing some of our past shenanigans is really saying something.

"I'm in love with Alice," he announces.

I can't decide whether I want to laugh or cry and whether it should be with relief or joy. I settle for prying his hands off my face and hooking my leg around the rung of the bar stool behind me. I sit him down and grab a stool for myself before I say, "Talk to me, Jas."

"I'm in love with Alice!" he wails. He's still slurring, and his Southern accent comes out when he's wasted, so it really sounds like he's saying "Ivan loves shallots" but having known him for a very long time and many drunken escapades, I can decipher what he means. Drunkenly grinning, he stares at somewhere over my shoulder. "She's perfect."

I turn to see that Alice has suckered Edward into dancing but she's a little too drunk, so she stands on his feet. He grimaces at the weight but doesn't say anything, slowly swaying with her. Emmett comes up to them and lifts her straight up, so she's dangling two feet in the air as he turns and twirls. She shrieks with joy as Rosalie lets out a loud happy laugh. Edward starts dancing with his sister but shoots me a smile when he's facing our way. It doesn't make me feel like we're the only two people in the bar—it makes me feel like even with everyone around us and the expanse of space between us, we're still perfect.

"You mentioned that. So, why haven't you told her yet?" I ask, turning back to Jasper.

He shrugs, but does it so dramatically that his arms flop at his sides. "I'm scared."

I nod, understanding way more than he thinks I do. "I get that. But if you love her, that's a risk you have to take."

"But what about Emmett and Rosalie?" he says. "I mean, their break up was ugly—and Emmett's sirloin! I'm only tofurkey!"

"What?" I ask. Either I am very hungry or Jasper has changed the topic.

Neither. "Emmett, he's strong and he's tough and lean. He's sirloin! He's prime rib! He needs a steak knife. But me? I'm tender! I'm tofurkey—I'm tilapia! All you need to cut me is the side of your fork!" He drops his head to bar, right into a spilled spot of strawberry daiquiri, and I'm kind of tempted to leave him there.

But this _feelings_ thing I've started to do lately has also led into this _compassion_ thing that I'm not quite sure I'm comfortable with yet. So I pick Jasper's head off the bar, and using a napkin doused in water, I wipe away the sugary drink from his forehead and eyebrows.

"Not every couple turns out like Rose and Em," I say and then shove the glass of water under his nose and make him drink.

"But I mean, they were friends first. Just like me and Alice. And now?" He makes an exploding noise, which he illustrates by pounding his fists together then splaying his fingers as he arcs his arms. "That was an explosion."

"Yeah, I got that."

"I just don't know if it's a risk I can take," he says, his voice quieter, and I can tell that underneath the alcohol, he really means it.

"Jasper—" I take a deep breath. This is it: the beginning of the end. I can feel the kick I'm going to want to give my ass in the future, but I don't stop myself. "If I tell you something, do you promise to consider telling Alice how you feel? Not tonight, but sometime soon?"

He nods. "Okay."

"Jasper… I'm dating Edward."

And of all the reactions I expected—shock, surprise, that weird bug-eyed look he sometimes gets—he gives me the one I didn't. In fact, he doesn't even give me a reaction.

Then he lets out a strange guffaw. "Nice joke, Bella, but I'm serious."

"So am I!"

He eyes me warily. "I don't believe you. I think you're just trying to convince me to tell Alice."

"By lying about dating Edward? I swear, Jasper, he's my boyfriend. He—he was the guy I slept with! The one I wouldn't tell you all about," I say, in a low voice. The others are far enough away that they can't hear me, but I'm not sure why I bother. The cat's going to be out of the bag pretty soon.

Jasper head bobs back and forth between looking at me and looking at Edward.

"Nahhh," he declares.

I roll my eyes. I never thought I'd have to prove this to any of my friends.

"You don't believe me?" I say. I hop off my bar stool and walk towards the table where the others have just sat down.

"Alice?" I say as I stride over.

"What?"

"Happy birthday," I tell her as I reach the table.

I grab Edward's face with both hands; if I'm going to do this, it's going to be a big, movie finale type kiss—except we're not in a movie. We're just us, so despite my attempt to kiss the shit out of him, I can feel him smile when he realizes what I'm doing, and then I'm smiling too, and then we're just both laughing into each others' mouths.

I hear a thump on the table, followed by Rosalie saying, "What the fuck?" but I don't pull away and neither does he. It could be because we know we're going to have to answer what amounts to a customer service questionnaire when we pull apart—"please date your experience"; "would you say your experience was unsatisfying, neutral or very satisfying?"; "is this your first time?"; "based on your experience, will you return?".

Or maybe we just like where we are right now.

Turns out our friends don't care so much about waiting for us to finish kissing.

"It was Edward?" Alice screeches as Rosalie moans, "ewwwww."

I shrug, nudging his nose with mine. "It was Edward." I slip my arms around his neck and chuckle at my own sentimentally as I add, "It _is_ Edward."

I crane my neck to see Jasper still sitting at the bar, watching us slack-jawed. He stumbles over.

"You weren't kidding!" he says. "You really _are_ dating Edward!"

"What?" This time it's Rosalie and Alice in unison.

I nudge Edward. "You want to pipe in here?"

He grins lazily at me, slipping his arm around my waist. "Not even a little bit."

"Okay. Okay. Okay." Alice takes a deep breath. "When? No, wait I know when. How? No, I guess I know how too," she says. She makes a face. "Do I want to know where?"

"This is disgusting. You, Bella, are disgusting," Rosalie wails dramatically. "You couldn't at least tell me to stop digging for details about sex _with my brother_?"

"How was I supposed to do that without giving away that _he was your brother_?" I ask.

"Whatever."

"Don't be an asshole, Rose," I tell her, even though I know she's kidding.

She shoots me a wry smile and says, "I'm pretty sure you're in no position to call me names, you brotherfucker." She's full on grinning now as the rest of the table, even Edward, erupts into laughter.

We joke around for a few minutes till abruptly, Edward says, "Would you look at the time? It's 12:13!" I smile because I know exactly where he's going with this. "It looks like Alice's birthday is over. And Bella and I"—he stands up and grabs my hand—"are getting out of here."

"What? Why?" Alice whines, but I can tell she's not really pissed. They're probably waiting for us to leave so they can analyze every minute we've ever spent together and put some sort of romantic twist on it.

"Uh because I went from the airport straight to your place last night, forgoing any time with Bella. So as much I would never ditch you on your birthday," Edward replies, leaning over to kiss her on the cheek. "It's not your birthday anymore. So goodnight!"

"You're just going to leave us right now?" Rosalie asks, but her words don't have any force either.

"Yup. I've got to live up to the name you gave me," I say, grinning leeringly on purpose. She shudders.

"Emmett gets it. He told me that he was surprised we even showed up last night!" Edward says.

"You knew?" Alice is back to screeching.

Rosalie smacks his shoulder and says, "How could you not tell me?" There's fire in her words but not in her eyes, and the ease in between them is something I haven't seen since they split.

In the melee, Edward tugs on my hand and we leave the bar.

"That wasn't very nice to do to Emmett," I admonish.

He grins. "He'll get over it."

I snort. "So much for 'bros before hos'."

"Hey Bella?"

"Yeah?"

"Shut up."

And for once, I am absolutely willing to.

— |—

_You don't shut up, but I don't really mind. You chatter on as we walk, hand in hand, to your apartment, which is nearby. But the minute we're in the door, you're right where I am, no need for talking, not right now at least, only kissing as we blindly make our way to your bedroom, __quiet__ except for an "ow" when I hit my foot on your dresser and an "oof" when we fall on top __of__ the bed and onto each other._

_It's the first time after the first time—well, the first four times—but back then, I didn't know if it'd be the last time; now, there's this calmness underneath __everything, from __the way your lips crawl down my jaw onto my neck to the way my fingers fumble with the buttons of your shirt. I'm half out of my mind with just wanting to be with you, half relaxed because I can take as much time as I want. I'll get to do this over and over and over again. _

_It's a strange feeling to be at a loss around you. I'm always so comfortable with you, I don't have to know what to do or what to say because whatever I do or say, you're fine with __it__._

_I'm all over the place. One second, I want you to lead, want you to show me just how and how much you want me, where you'd like me to put my hands, whether or not you'll tug on my hair without me asking you to,__whether you've noticed how much I like it when you suck on my Adam's apple. So when you roll us over so you're on top of me, I go with it._

_But then the next second, I roll back onto you because now I'm frantic and active, and _I_ want to do things, things I've already done and new things I've thought about since, like using one hand to pin both of yours against the headboard and hooking your knee around my elbow and push, push, pushing so hard and fast that you barely have time to breathe between the noises you're making._

_The best part is, like with everything I do or say, you're fine with it. You're _more_ than fine with it, you're going with it, matching my pace and kissing my moans and lacing your fingers through mine where I still hold them above our heads. You're trying new things too, like pushing your heel into my ass, and then you do that thing you already did once, my favorite thing of all. You moan, this high-pitched noise, a breathy "ahh!" that is so unlike you, but smile right after it; you open your eyes and look right at me and smile. Then I'm smiling back and then we're both laughing but not stopping and this is what I couldn't do with anyone else, what I can't do without you._

_I love doing this with you, being in you, the skin of your stomach against mine, the little pants you breathe in my mouth because you're too focused on moving your hips to kiss me, the shocked look on your face when I pull out suddenly and put my mouth where other parts of me just were, the gasp when I push back in. That devious little smirk when you push on my shoulders and flip us over, then lower onto me, and the way your head falls like your neck is boneless, and shit shit shit, that feeling when you put your hands on my thighs and lean back._

_Now, I'm more than happy to let you do what you want, anything as long as you keep me feeling like this, stretching some string inside of me that's wrapped around your finger, your mouth, your hips, as long as you keep moving like that until I'm coming and going and releasing and holding onto you so, so tight. _

_You curl on top of__ me as we both catch our breath and I'm torn once again between thinking it can't possibly be any better and going again I as soon as I can, because I know that every time with you is __going to be __the best time. _

—|—

"Hey, Edward?" I say. He hums and I bury my nose in his slightly sweaty, smooth skin. We've just been lying here for the last half an hour, drifting in and out of sleep. My entire body feels stretched out and sated, even a little sore in the best way possible. "There's a boy in my bed."

He laughs, and I like that I can feel as well as hear it. "Oh God." His voice is slightly slurry with sleep. "I still remember when you sent me that text message. I think we'd met like once or twice, but we'd never really hung out, and then I got that message and was like, 'What the fuck?'"

"I didn't mean to!" I say. "My phone book was alphabetical by last name, and I texted you instead of Rose."

"I had no idea what to do. I didn't know if you were okay, or if you were trying to make conversation—really weird conversation—or if…"

I tilt my head to look up at him, but all I get is an eyeful of stubbly jaw. I'm perfectly alright with that. "If what?"

He clears his throat delicately. "Umm… if you were trying to make me jealous."

I pull away so I can look him in the eye. "What?"

"Well… we still didn't know each other that well at that point, and—I don't know! When we first met, you weren't _Bella_ yet. You were just my sister's hot friend! I kind of wanted to bang you."

I laugh. "Well, you did."

"Yeah, like seven years later."

I think about that. "Wow, seven years."

"Yeah, that's a long time."

"Do you think we were always going to end up like this?" I ask. I feel too far away from his skin, so I tuck my head into his neck, running my nose along the underside of his jaw.

He leans back, settling me on his chest as he plays with the ends of a few strands of my hair. He's really thinking about his answer.

"I really never thought about us, or you, as anything more before that night," he says quietly. "I mean you were my best friend, so obviously I liked you, but I didn't ever really consider more."

"Can I ask you something?" He hums his 'yes' as I move my body so I'm draped over him and put one fist on top of the other on his chest, balancing my chin on them. "Why'd you sleep with me that night?"

He cranes his neck to look at me. "Why'd _you_ sleep with _me_?"

"Honestly?"

"No, please lie to my face."

I roll my eyes. "Because you're probably the most attractive man I know."

He snorts and lets his head fall back onto the pillow. "You only wanted me for my body."

"Pretty much."

"C'mere," he says, grasping my shoulders and pulling me so I'm above him, my hair framing our faces. He gathers it in one hand and maneuvers it so it's falling over just one shoulder. "I slept with you because"—he takes a deep breath and his brows furrow—"I had this thought that was like 'I want to kiss Bella.'"

"So you did."

He chuckles. "Sort of. I think the thing that shocked me more was that I didn't freak out when I thought that. So then I kind of wanted to see if I wouldn't freak out if I actually did kiss you. And I didn't, and neither did you."

"Wow," I say, sighing exaggeratedly. 'That's so romantic."

"You think?"

I make a face. "Oh yes, it's lovely that _apathy_ led you to kiss me."

He laughs and crosses his arms behind my neck, pulling me down closer to him. "When I did kiss you, and you kissed me back, and I didn't freak out, and you didn't freak out—it was like a switch flipped. Suddenly, I wanted to see what else I could do with you. And then, I just wanted to do everything with you."

I squint at him. "Are you sure you never had a long suffering crush on me?" I tease even though I know he never did.

He laughs. "I always knew you were hot, but no. I never pined for you."

I laugh. "I don't know if anyone outside of a Bronte sister novel really pines, but yeah, I never pined for you, either."

He smiles and tilts his chin to look down on me. "I'm glad."

"You are?"

"Yeah," he says, nodding as his grins grows wider. "I'm glad that neither of us pined or made ourselves miserable at any point. This whole thing with you—it's been the easiest thing in the world. I kind of like it that way."

"None of that 'what doesn't kill you makes you stronger' stuff?" I ask, still teasing.

He kisses me as he pushes the duvet aside and gets up, saying, "Nope. I'm weak and I'm alive and I'm happy."

He is. It's what he's always been, just an innately happy, sweet person. I'm what I've always been too, neurotic and silly and trying to make easy things a challenge. And if our seven years of friendship and these few weeks of something more has taught me one thing, it's that the only thing that Edward and I may be better at than being ourselves is being with each other.

He pulls on his boxers and grabs his shirt, tossing it to me. "I'm hungry," he announces, walking into the living room. After I put on the shirt, I follow him out. I watch him rummaging around my kitchen from the couch and ask him what he's doing.

"Making pancakes," he answers. I swear, he couldn't have given a more perfect answer. I mean, great sex and affection is wonderful but food, especially food that involves butter—that's really the delicious, fatty foundation we're going to build this relationship on.

"Hey, can I use your phone to look up a recipe?" he asks and I nod.

"You know… I think I'm upset that you didn't pine," I tell him.

He looks up from the phone and raises an eyebrow. "I thought you said no one outside of a Bronte novel pines."

"Maybe I want a Bronte novel."

"Fine, we'll take a vacation near some cliffs. There were cliffs in one of those books, right?"

"Maybe I want a Bronte _man_," I clarify.

He frowns. "I thought all the Brontes were women. I have no idea what you're going on about."

I roll my eyes. "You, sir, do not deserve to share a name with Rochester."

"Alright, that's enough," he mutters, striding out of the kitchen. He dives into me on the couch and I shriek, laughing as he tosses me over his shoulder and stands up.

I'm saddened for a moment over the loss of the pancakes, but then—in a true sign of personal growth—realized I'd rather have this more... right now. The pancakes will still have to come later. I'm still me, after all. I pretend to protest, trying to tickle him by jabbing my fingers into his ribs from behind and swatting his ass until he says, "Be careful, I might like that."

He walks back into my bedroom and lobs me onto the mattress. He stands next to the bed, catching his breath, hands on his hips, watching me.

I look up at him. "Well, now that you got me here, what are you going to do with me?" I ask.

He grins slowly. "So, so much."

* * *

Just an all-EPOV epilogue, which I'll post sometime next week hopefully, and we're done. I've also contributed a BPOV futuretake to the Fandom Fights Tsunami compilation so please consider donating!

To **americnxidiot**, who tirelessly betas this story and sometimes betas my real life, all I can say is:

LADY, HE SAID KEEP MOVING.

I'm kind of really sad to see this story come to an end; it's been some of the most fun I've ever had writing and that is because of you guys. Your reviews and tweets and PMs and just general reactions have made this SUCH a pleasure, I can't tell you. Thanks for putting up with extra long chapters, extra long delays, no review replies and just me, in general. I adore every one of you.

See you at the epilogue, but until then, please leave me your thoughts!


	12. Epilogue

Epilogue.

"_Hey,"_ _Rose greets me when I walk up to her table near the back of the bar. As I'm hugging her, she says, "Sorry."_

"_For what?" I ask, but the answer is clear from the outrageous noise—I refuse to call it singing—and Rose's grimace. I look behind me and sure enough, I know the girl standing on stage, screeching that "turn around" song into the microphone. She's hot—well, pretty, but she's got a great rack, which makes her hot—and she's absolutely blitzed out of her mind._

_Later on, after we've—_she's—_been kicked out of the bar, we slowly walk home because Bella keeps stumbling everywhere and tripping Rosalie, who has put her arm around her shoulders. At one point, Bella reaches over and taps me on the shoulder._

"_Yes, Bella?" I ask, amused. Let no one say this girl isn't entertaining._

"_You're very handsome," she tells me. She raises her eyebrows and nods seriously, saying, "No, really you are," as if I argued with her, even though I haven't said a word._

_I smile, and we hold each other's gazes for a second. There's something there, that little spark in her eyes that gets me a little heated, and I can't help but wonder what her lips would look like after I kissed her. What they would look like doing other things, too._

_I think she's attracted to me, too—I mean, she _did _just call me handsome. I've only met her once before, and she was sober and not nearly as brazen, though still quite fun. And Rose would probably kill me, but I could take it. My eyes rove over Bella's nice ass and those fantastic breasts, and yeah, I think it'd be worth a scolding from Rose._

_I'm about to flirt back when she says, "Rose, you are, too. Not handsome. Pretty. Not pretty. Beautiful. Gorgeous. Even your nostrils are pretty."_

_Rose and I share a look and chuckle over her head. Bella is so, so drunk._

"_Thanks, B," Rose says. _

_Bella proceeds to tell Rose how much men suck—to which Rose mouths 'break up' to me, which explains the drunkenness. And then, to my utter astonishment and delight, she asks Rose if she'll "go les" with her if neither of them finds a man by 2008._

"_Why 2008?" Rose asks._

_She shrugs. "2008, it's so even. You add the 2 and the 8 and it's ten and then there's the zeroes!" she says, like that explains everything and then proceeds to trip, nearly falling to the ground before I grab her._

"_Alright," I say, torn between laughing and sighing. We've walked two blocks in the last ten minutes, and I need to piss. This has got to speed up. "Bella, can you get on my back? I'll piggy-back you home."_

_She grins and nods enthusiastically—despite her drunkenness, or maybe because of it, it's cute as fuck— and I move to stand in front of her, crouching down so she doesn't have to jump as high. It takes three tries, but she finally jumps high enough. I latch my hands onto her thighs, then give a little jump-boost so she's sitting higher on my back, which makes her squeal._

_We walk home at a normal pace, then a little faster when she wraps her legs around my waist—which would be kind of sexy, especially when she whispers, "You really _are_ handsome"— except that it's totally pushing on my bladder._

"_Bella," my sister drawls. "Stop flirting with Edward."_

_Instead of being embarrassed, she scoffs. "As if I would do that, Rose. He's your _brother_. I don't even know him."_

_It's true; other than being my sister's roommate and friend, she's just some girl who I thought I had a drunken moment with._

_Who knew that _she_ would become _you_?_

—|—

_You tug on a lock of my hair—which is difficult because of how short it is—then roughly turn my head to the side to you can inspect. Then you do the same for the other side._

"_It's too short, right?" I complain. "I asked the barber to buzz on a three, but he must have done a two—maybe even a one."_

_You're still curiously inspecting my head as you say, "I have no idea what that means."_

"_When the barber buzzes your hair, the settings are for how close cropped it is. One is the shortest—"_

"_I really don't care," you say, standing up and leaning over me so you can see the top of my head. I'm about to protest, but it puts my face in the direct line of your cleavage, so I just… enjoy for a few moments. "It makes your head look smaller," you observe as you sit back down._

"_Right?" Fuck, I knew it. I look like a moron. "And it makes my chin look huge. Like I'm fucking Jay Leno."_

"_You're fucking Jay Leno? What does Tanya have to say about that?" you tease, which makes me laugh. _

"_You know what I mean," I say. "It looks terrible."_

_You roll your eyes. "You're such a woman. It'll grow back in a few weeks; and even if it doesn't, you look fine."_

_I smirk. "Do I look _handsome_?" I drawl a little on the word._

_You give me a blank look. "Why are you asking me like that?"_

"_Because you once called me handsome."_

"_I did?"_

"_Yup, way back when you were in college." I don't want to clarify that it was the night you broke up with your boyfriend._

"_Was I drunk?" you ask, and you're joking but laugh when I confirm that yes, you were. "Well, hold on to that memory because it's not happening again," you say, and I chuckle._

"_Where is everyone?"_

_You look around the coffee shop exaggeratedly. "Not here."_

"_Thanks, genius. I just meant, do you know what everyone is up to? What are Rose and Em doing?"_

_You shrug. "Each other?"_

_I groan. "That was unnecessary."_

"_You're right, I'm sorry," you say._

"_Make it up to me."_

_You narrow your eyes. "How?"_

"_Go with Jasper to that documentary on Tuesday in my place."_

_You snort. "The one about dust bunnies? No way."_

_I crack up. "It's about the Dust _Bowl_."_

"_Whatever. Still not going."_

"_Alright, then tell me I'm handsome. Your choice."_

_You roll your eyes about three times, sighing exasperatedly before mumbling, "Edward, you're handsome." The tone you say it in makes you sound like you're admitting something incredibly painful._

_Tanya comes over later that night. I like her a lot. We're in that place right between casual and serious, and I don't really know which way it will go, but she's a fun girl._

_She likes the haircut._

"_Really?" I ask skeptically. I want to say the thing about my chin, but I just can't tell her. It'd be too weird._

_She nods. "I really do like it. It's so clean cut. It makes you look so... handsome!"_

_She doesn't get why I start laughing._

—|—

_Something is up, and I can't tell from the way you're mumbling whether it's good or bad. I really, really need it to be good. You and I—we don't do bad, and lately, just when I feel like I'm finally getting a hold of you, you twist or turn, and I'm left grasping at air._

_I feel like this is one of those moments so, sounding a little more frustrated than I mean to, I admonish you. I realize this and soften my tone as I ask again, "What did you do?"_

_You inhale deeply and say, "I told Angela and Carmen you were my boyfriend."_

_That… I was not expecting. I tease you a bit and then tease you more, because you make it so easy and so fun, but all I can think is that you're mine. Finally._

_And the 'finally' is totally unwarranted, because it's been like ten days since I figured out I even wanted you, but still. I think even just one day of wanting you is enough and even every day of having you won't be enough._

_It fucking kills me that we're finally together and you're three thousand miles away. But you don't let me dwell on it, chattering on about dumbass things like rules and Snuggies and breaking up—which, what the fuck, way to be a killjoy. _

_Then you ask me to stay your best friend._

_I have this ridiculous thought right then; I can't quite believe I even think it, and I freak myself out a bit_—a lot—_and whatever I say back makes you smile at me in a way that only makes me think it more before I frantically push the thought away. And I'd never tell you this in a million years—except I do wind up telling you in about ten or so—__but that's the first time I think about marrying you._

—|—

"_Edward!" you screech from the other room. Even if we hadn't been friends for years, we've been dating long enough that I know that when it's important things, you get really quiet and your eyes get really big and scared. This is just your morning neuroses._

_I tuck my shirt in, leaving my tie undone around my shoulders, and walk into the bathroom. You're standing there in just a pair of my boxers, completely topless. I approve._

"_New look?" I ask. "I like."_

_You roll your eyes and cup one of your breasts, but not in the fucking hot way you sometimes do when we're having sex. You lift your breast and drop it, which makes it jiggle slightly. You repeat the action with the other one, and then with both at the same time. I sit on the edge of the bathtub, wondering if there will ever be a day where the dumb, awesome shit you do won't entertain me._

_You turn away from the mirror to face me._

"_Are they getting saggy?" you asks._

_I snort. "Your breasts? Not at all."_

_You squish your mouth to one side as you stare down at them. "I think they're getting saggy. Like, a year ago, they were up here"—you demonstrate by pushing them almost into your face, which, even after this morning, gets me hard—"and now." You release them and they fall into place. I'm not really getting what you're talking about. Breasts are breasts, except when they're yours, and then they're perfect._

"_Bella, they're exactly where they always have been."_

_You shake your head and turn back to the mirror as I begin to knot my tie. "No, no." You walk over to me and make me stand, taking over the tie-tying. "I think you're just placating me."_

_I roll my eyes. "I promise, I'm not. You know how much I love your breasts. I promise, I still wanna do all the dirty things I wanted to do to them before."_

_You push my chin up as you loop around the material, and when I look back at you, you're smiling. "Really?"_

"_I swear."_

"_Okay." As you tighten the knot, you tug on the tie and pull me down for a kiss._

"_Alright, I better go before I'm late," I say against your lips, wanting to do anything but._

"_Don't forget to call Garrett later, unless you want me to. Kate's going in for her appointment today. They'll probably set a date later this week to induce labor," you remind me. You kiss me again then move behind me, shedding the boxers as you step into the shower. Now I really don't want to leave, but you call out, "Have a good day!"_

_As I walk out of the bathroom, I say "Bye. Love you."_

"_Love you, too."_

_It's only when I'm at the door that I realize that's the first time we've ever said that to each other._

_You pop your head out of the shower; your hair is wet already, and you're squinting because there's shampoo dribbling down your face. You don't say a word, just grin at me. I grin back and walk to you, giving you a solid, kind of squelchy kiss because your lips are all wet, and then leave for work._

_When you call me later, you end the conversation with "I love you" and just like that, we're in love._

_It's as easy as every other part of being with you._

—|—

"_Edward," you whine, pushing your hips up to me. It feels so good when you brush up against me because I've been hard for the last, oh, thirty minutes or so, but I still keep on task: the task being slowly driving you crazy as I put my mouth all over your breasts, not touching you anywhere else. We'll get to the sex—we will _definitely _get to the sex_—_but for right now, it's really fun doing this to you, hearing you almost beg for me._

"_What was that poem I wrote you? About your boobs?" I ask, and you laugh, despite your frustration with me._

"_Your erotic poem?"_

"_Yeah, yeah, that one. How did it go?" I kiss you quickly on the lips. "This breast." I kiss your neck. "Is the best." Right between your breasts."Something about a quest." I move lower, lightly biting at the bottom of your bellybutton, which makes you squeal. "I do not jest." I make my way up, trailing kisses over your ribs. "Blah blah blah chest." I put my mouth on your nipple, and the noise you make is amazing. "I will not rest."_

_I thought I knew you before, but it's amazing what I know now. I know that you like it better when I flick your nipple with my tongue rather than suck on it, that you hate doggie-style on the basis of the name alone but love reverse cowgirl, that you moan when it feels good but just screw your eyes shut and open your mouth silently when it feels best. I've lost count of how many times I've made you come, and know how to do it in a million different ways, but tonight I want to find the millionth and first and second and third and fourth._

_I give up on teasing and get to tasting._

—|—

_We're walking down the street on a fantastic fall day when I feel a tug on my shorts. I look down, and there's this kid, this tiny little thing in braids, her big, brown eyes taking up half her face._

_"Hello," I reply. I catch a glimpse of your face, and you're watching me incredibly closely; I feel like I'm in a test or something._

_The kid replies something, but she's so soft spoken, and I'm too tall to hear what she says. I crouch down on my haunches, and even then, I'm _still_ taller than her. It kind of floors me how small she is._

_She and her sister—a replica of her with a foot of extra height sweet-talking some other fool a few yards away—are selling lemonade; it's so ridiculous and quaint that even if this little thing wasn't the best salesman on the basis of her tininess, I'd buy some anyway._

_I buy two glasses, and as we're walking away, the kid yells, "Thank you, sir!" She's not so soft spoken once she's made the sale.  
_

_I laugh at her calling me 'sir' and turn around to reply, "Thank _you_, Miss."_

_She's not done though. "You have a great day!"_

_You raise your eyebrows and smile at me. "I think you have a little admirer."_

_I'm about to shrug and reply when the little girl yells again, "And your wife too!"_

_You get this deer in the headlights look that is so comical, I start laughing._

_"Shut up," you mutter, but I pull you to me, slipping my arm around you and kissing your temple as we continue to walk._

_"I thought I was weaning you off your commitment phobic tendencies."_

_You smile and then frown. "It's just with my mother's track record... marriage doesn't seem like a great thing. Or maybe it's marriage that's fine and divorce that's the problem." You say these words carefully, measured, then quickly add, "But things with us are great."_

_I laugh. "Thanks for letting me know that."_

_"I just... I didn't want to make you feel bad," you say, and I grin._

_"You didn't. And I promise, I won't divorce you," I reply._

_You raise your eyebrows. "You must be some kind of stubborn to talk about marrying me after what I just said." Your eyes are teasing, and your smile is emerging. I love you._

_"Whoa there, Bella. Let's not get ahead of ourselves," I say. "I never said I'd marry you... just that I'd never divorce you."_

_And I see in it your smile, your blush, the way you change the subject abruptly and start yammering on about something ridiculous—butter? batter?—and don't let me even get in a word._

_You want to marry me._

_Maybe not today, maybe not even soon, but you do. You want to marry me._

_You stop talking and look at me, narrowing your eyes. "What?"_

_"What?"_

_"You're grinning _that_ grin,_"_ you say._

_"What grin?" I know exactly what grin it is._

_"That one where you have something up your sleeve," you say. I love that _you_ know exactly what grin it is._

_I try to tamp it down and reply, "I have nothing up my sleeve. Except for my heart, because that's where I wear it."_

_You roll your eyes, but don't say anything, because jokes aside—hell, male pride aside, since I pretty much gave that up the day I started chasing after you—it's kind of true. _

_I wear my heart on my sleeve for you. __Maybe you'll wear yours on the third finger of your left hand for me._

—|—

_I wake up suddenly; it feels like a heavy weight has been laid upon my chest. I open my eyes, and there you are._

_"Hi," you say, smiling._

_"Hi." I'm still sleepy, and you're sitting right on top of me which is making it hard to breathe. I take a deep inhale, but halfway through you dip down and kiss me hard. It wakes me up and leaves me sort of breathless, but maybe not completely for the usual reasons or the way you'd want it to._

_"Hi," you say again, and you're still wearing that dumb grin. You're drunk._

_"How was your night out with Rose and Al?" I ask, smiling more at you than with you._

_You shrug. "Alright." But you belie it by your grin. You had fun; we both know you did. "We spent most of our time talking about our boyfriends. How was your night in with Jasper and Em?"_

_I smile. "We spend most of our time not talking about girlfriends."_

_You pretend to pout, and that's when I know you're definitely drunk, because you don't pout; you whine or you bully me into giving you whatever you want._

_"I missed you," you say, leaning down. You shove your tongue a little too forcefully into my mouth, but I kiss back anyway. "All I could think about was this."_

_You grind your hips into what you probably think are my hips, but are really my ribs, which knocks the breath out of me a little._

_I put my hands on your hips and move you a little lower, laughing. "You are always so horny when you drink."_

_You sit up, and for a second, I think I've genuinely offended you. Then you smile. "I am. But do me a favor?"_

_"What?"_

_You lean down and with your lips inches from mine say, "Oblige me anyway?"_

_I smile and sit up so I can take off your shirt. I'd like to say it's the prospect of sex that's motivating me—and a big part of it is—but the truth is, I've never been able to deny you. I'm not about to start now._

—|—

_I wake up one morning and as happens on rare occasion, you're out of bed before me. You're playing around with something on the dresser, humming a popular song from a few years ago that I recognize vaguely. Every few minutes you stop and hold out your left hand, waggling your fingers and grinning before you return to whatever you were doing._

_You walk around the room, folding the various articles of clothing that got thrown around last night in the heat of the moment. You're humming a little louder and wiggling your hips from side to side; I swear, I've used the word 'cute' in the years we've been dating more than any man ought to, but that's what you are. That's what I love most about you; you're strange and goofy, and it's so you. How could it not be cute?_

_You're shaking your ass with gusto now, clearly singing what is your favorite part of the song—something about putting a ring on it, which is ridiculous but also very apt. I just fold my hands behind my head and watch you; you're better than any TV show or movie. Your breasts are bouncing, and I can tell you're not wearing a bra. I think that we need to reinstate topless Sundays again._

_Your eyes wander over to me and you notice me watching you; maybe years ago, you would have stopped and been embarrassed. __Now, you just sing out louder and move toward the bed in these weird, stilted motions that make you look like you're cross country skiing or something._

_"What the hell are you doing?" I ask._

_You laugh. "It's the dance that Beyonce did in the video for this." And you go back to singing as you pounce on me. You kiss me all over, my mouth, my cheeks, behind my ear, _on_ my ear, which makes a weird sound that I recoil at, which makes you laugh.  
_

_"I've been thinking," you say._

_"Good, something new and different for you," I tease, and you roll your eyes. The day we stop doing that is the day we're not us anymore._

_"Shut up. I've been thinking, and there's something I'd really like you to do for me." You're smiling, but your voice is serious, so I tuck your hair behind your ear and ask you what it is._

_"This whole name thing is really important to me," you say, taking my hands and linking our fingers._

_I nod. I mean, I'd have liked you to take my name when we get married, but I get why you may not want to. "Okay, that's fine. You don't have to take my name."_

_"I mean, okay, yeah. But what I'd really like is..." You hesitate._

_"What?" You have to know I'd do pretty much anything for you. If you don't, I'm not doing this right._

_"I'd really like if... you took my name."_

_What? "What?"_

_"Yeah. Edward Swan—it has such a nice sound to it."_

_Okay, see there's doing anything for your girl. Which I would do; that's what a good man does, in my opinion. But then there's also doing stuff that makes you feel less like a man, even if that's not the case, and I feel bad. I mean, I know that I'd like you to take my name; it's kind of a dick move if I balk at taking your name. But at the same time, I really, _really_ don't want to be Mr. Edward Swan._

_I'm trying to figure out how to say all this without offending you or ruining anything when I look up and see the look on your face. You've pressed your lips together in an effort not to smirk—a smirk I'm pretty sure you picked up from me—and you're absolutely teasing me. You wily, wonderful thing._

_You burst out laughing in my face. "I wish you could see your face right now!" You're wheezing, practically gasping for air, you're laughing that hard.  
_

_I roll us over so I'm on top, and I can feel your stomach move as you continue to crack up. After a few minutes, you try and calm yourself but that only results in you snorting a couple of times, which makes me laugh, and I have to think that there couldn't be any better way to spend my life._

_Nothing more and nothing less than the very best: you._

Fin._  
_

* * *

And that's it. I hope you enjoyed the little snippets of EPOV.

As always, this just wouldn't happen without **americnxidiot_. _**R- forget Ben or Edward, you'll always be my Jim Bob.

To all of you guys who read, review, tweet, PM, comment, whatever; I can't tell you what it means to me. I wrote this story on a whim, never expecting that you all would make it this much fun. Your reviews, and I read every single one of them, make me so, so happy. Thank you, thank you, thank you.

If you're interested, I'll be continuing _Once More, With Feeling_, as well as finishing up my last two FGB commitments (thank you quothme and buriedalive55, if you're reading this, for being the most patient people _ever_)... and maybe something else :). Come find me on Twitter or put me on author alert and it sounds silly, but I hope to see you all around the fandom.

Cheers, Anya.


	13. Outtake

**Summary: **TBIEH Futuretake: _It all starts when Edward says seven words I never thought I would hear him utter: "I'm not having sex with you, Bella." _

Hi there! So this was an outtake I wrote for Fandom Fights Tsunami—it's just a silly, small look into TBIEH's Edward and Bella's near future and coincidentally, it takes place around the 4th of July. I guess it would fit in somewhere after the fourth "part" of the epilogue.

thank you **americnxidiot** for taking a look at yet ano-thor! (even if I didn't give you time to beta it.)

* * *

It all starts when Edward says seven words I _never_ thought I would hear him utter.

"I'm not having sex with you, Bella."

He plops down on my couch, crossing his arms and wearing a look of determination I've only seen a few times before. One time it was when he was at match point with Emmett in Wii tennis. And then another time, when he was searching for something. That may have begun with 'g' and ended with 'spot'.

Ironic that this time, he's wearing that look for pretty much the opposite reason.

"You're not going to have sex with me," I reply.

He nods. "Nope."

"You're not going to have sex with _me_," I repeat, my incredulity building.

He raises his eyebrows, which makes them more arched than normal, and nods, as if to say, 'yeah, that's what I said.'

"You? You. _You,_ Edward Cullen, the man who keeps only two pictures in his phone, one of each of my boobs—_you_ are not going to have sex with me."

"Bella, what part of 'I'm not going to have sex with you' don't you understand?"

"The part where you are not going to have sex with me!" He laugh. " Do you mean ever again?"

He snorts and looks at me like I'm crazy. I get this look a lot. "No. I'm not going to sleep with you until you agree that we'll tell my parents and Charlie that we're dating when we see them this weekend."

"That's blackmail!"

"That's love."

"So love is blackmail?" I ask.

"Love is knowing the other person's weaknesses and manipulating it to get your own way," he informs me.

"You're such a romantic," I mutter. I flop down on the couch next to him. "And since when is sex _my_ weakness? You're definitely the hornier of the two of us."

He laughs. "Ah, but see, that has its advantages."

"Do tell."

"It's simple. I want sex all the time. Anytime, anywhere, anyway, I want it. Outside, in the shower, cooking, at work, at home, in public—"

"Get on with it," I say, rolling my eyes and wondering if he understands just how much he was contradicting himself. He grins broadly.

"Okay, so if I want sex 100% of the time, you want it, let's say… 95%."

"What? No way," I say. "That is way too high."

He raises just one eyebrow in a way that reminds me that he knows exactly how often and how much I want sex by making me want it right now. "Fine. Let's say 90%." Begrudgingly, I agree, even though we both know it's closer to 95%. Maybe 98%.

He continues, "So that 10% of the time, where I want sex but you don't? It's all been practice for this moment. I am more used to not getting sex whenever I want it, whereas you? You are a brat when it comes to sex. I spoil you."

"Excuse me?"

"You heard me. You are like… Michelle Tanner."

I look at him confusedly and slightly horrified. "Is that a Full House reference?"

"Yup. Anytime you want sex, I'm all, 'You got it, dude,'" he says and I crack up.

"Two minutes, and you're already going crazy," I tease, poking him. He laughs and slips his arm around me, pulling me into his side as he reaches for the remote and turns on the TV. "You'll never last."

"Oh but Bella," he says, his voice low. He runs his lips along my ear as he speaks, making me shiver a little. "I think we both know just how long I last."

I turn my head so we are nose to nose. "Edward, you just tried to convince me you'd be good at not having sex… by telling me how good you are at having sex."

He shrugs.

I smirk. "You're going down."

He lets out a laugh somewhere between a chuckle and a snicker and I can feel his breath, all minty and cool, wash over me. "Oh, I will. Happily. Just as soon as you agree to tell our families."

I roll my eyes and sit back. "Oh, innuendo! It's so clever! It makes you so sexy! Oh, Edward! I must have you this instant!" I crack up at my own theatrics.

He snorts. "You won't be laughing when you say that in a few days."

"In a few days, we'll be at your parents' house for Fourth of July. And Charlie will be there. And I _guarantee_ I will not be having sex with my father twenty feet in the vicinity."

"We'll see." He shrugs again. "Who knows? Maybe I'll break you by then."

Not if I break him first.

—|—

Neither happens.

I've always suspected that deep down inside, I am secretly ridiculously sexy. Like Marilyn Monroe, men would die or kill for me sexy; I've just always thought I was too above it all to tap into that.

Nope. Turns out I never tapped into that side of me because it doesn't exist. I am not a seductress. In the days following, I thank God that Edward and I worked out, because I'm not quite sure who else would bother with me. I sure wouldn't.

There's the night I'm cooking pasta sauce. Edward's sitting on the kitchen counter, and I decide to pull that sexy move I always see in movies where I taste a bit of the sauce and then hold out the spoon for him to get a lick. About three seconds into sucking on the spoon while looking up at Edward, I gasp and yank it out of my mouth, only to find that I've singed the entire tip of my tongue.

To Edward's credit, he doesn't laugh in my face. He just waits until I'm running my tongue under the faucet and laughs from behind me as he watches.

Here's the thing, though. Edward _is_ sexy. He's sexy when he falls asleep on the couch, his head tilted back and his lips parted slightly. He's sexy when he roams around his or my apartment in his standard home attire, which is a pair of threadbare sweatpants that defy gravity with how low they sit on his waist. He's got those two dimples right above his ass, and I swear, those dimples taunt me. I mean, it's ridiculously how attractive those two holes where flesh should be are.

He's even sexy when he's just being playful and cute—like the night he asks me to teach him how I braid my hair and then spends two hours trying to learn it while I watch the Food Network. In the end, all he winds up doing is making a million knots in it.

He remedies this by doing something I never thought would be sexy, but totally is. Seating me in between his legs in front of him on the couch, he slowly, gently brushes my hair, working out every tangle and twist. As he runs the brush through my hair, he follows with his hand, massaging my scalp a little. After a few minutes, he lifts my hair away from my neck, running his nose along the back and side of it, continuing behind my ear, and then kissing my shoulder.

I fall back into him, and he drops the brush, sliding his arms around me, splaying his hands on my stomach under my shirt. It always feels so good when he touches me, but especially now, after two very long days. I turn my head to kiss him, burying my hand in his hair.

Within two minutes, he's lying on top of me on the couch and the gentle, deep kisses have turned fast and frenzied. My knees are up around either side of his hips and the force with which his body moves and his hips flex into me as we kiss has made his pants slip over his ass. I use my toes to pull them down further as he takes off my t-shirt, letting our mouths separate for only one second before he's kissing me again. He is hard and hot between my legs, and he's pushing right where I need. He pulls my bra strap down and moves his mouth from mine to my breast, teasing it with his tongue.

The thought crosses my mind that Edward can keep his sex embargo. I'm happy with a dry hump.

Unfortunately, I'm a moron and happen to say this out loud, which causes Edward to stop and lift his head. I tug on his neck to try and get him to return to what he was doing, but instead, he sits up.

"Ah. So close. I'll break you yet," he declares, panting slightly as he gets up. "The sex embargo has now become an orgasm embargo."

"I can still give them to myself," I argue.

He shrugs, but I can see his eye twitch, a sign I've come to recognize as frustration. "Go ahead. You know they're not as good as when I do it."

I decide to change my tactics. "Edward," I say, moving my hand along his shoulder. He leans into my touch involuntarily. "Why are you doing this to yourself?" In a move that is far bolder than I am, I slide my other hand up his thigh toward the "this" I am talking about.

He grabs my hand just before my hand can grab him. "I think this is what they call a barter."

"A barter?"

"Yes. I'm trading in my balls for my principles."

I roll my eyes as he gets up. That night, out of anger, I sleep on the couch in his apartment. Or at least, I sleep on the couch till about 1am, when I decide that it is uncomfortable, and I miss Edward's warmth next to me.

That's the first time I realize I'm probably going to lose.

—|—

The next day, I'm almost sure I'm going to lose. It's only sheer will and stubbornness that keeps delaying the inevitable. We're sitting at the bar with Alice and Jasper the night before we go to the Cullens' place. Emmett and Rose have already left for Tennessee to spend the Fourth of July with his family, and Alice and Jasper are in that sickening phase where they can't keep their hands off each other. They're literally making out every two seconds, and it's awkward to say the least.

"Ready to give in?" Edward asks me.

"Please," I say, snorting. "Being around these two is like the most effective way to want to keep from having sex."

He laughs. "Yeah, it's pretty hard to want to have sex when you're throwing up in your mouth."

"What about you? Ready to throw in the towel?" I ask.

He shrugs. "Not even close."

I snicker. "I don't know, you seemed pretty, uh, _close_, last night."

To my surprise, he laughs. "I'll admit, I was. But here's the thing, Bella." He motions with two fingers for me to lean closer, so I do. Then he whispers in my ear, "You know how much I want you, right? All the time, anywhere." He slides his hand up my thigh—it's nowhere near indecent, but the slow feel of his hand on my bare leg lights me on fire. The way he grips my thigh, not tightly but possessively, with his fingers splayed so he can cover as much area as possible, reminds me of how he sometimes moves my legs during sex to get the right position. His pinky dips just under the hem of my skirt and with his cool breath running down my neck, I'm almost ready to give in right here in the bar. On the barstool, even. "You'd just have to say the word, even right now, and I'd take you home and do whatever you wanted me to do to you. And if home is too far, I'd find somewhere closer."

I think I actually let out a squeaking noise, I'm wound so tight at this point.

Then he pulls away slightly, so we're eye to eye and says, "But Bella, I want you to agree to tell our parents _more_ than I want that."

He sits back in his chair; the only tell in his poker face demeanor is the slight twitch of his left eye. Me, on the other hand? I'm pretty sure my _entire_ body is twitching.

It's on the drive up to his parents' house that Edward finally shows even a small sign that this is affecting him.

"So, I'm thinking I have to up the ante," he says. Emmett lent us his car to drive up in, and I can't help but notice how smoothly Edward changes the gears, his hand wrapped around the shift like—

I sigh and thread my mind away from those thoughts. Now, more than not wanting to tell Charlie or the Cullens, I'm intrigued as to why Edward is being so adamant about it. He hasn't really explained; every time I bring it up, he just says that it's the natural progression of the relationship. To which I argue, how natural can it be if you have to blackmail your girlfriend into doing it?

We've actually been arguing quite a bit in the last day or so; it's all pretty civil, just little bickers here and there. But it's still more than the usual for us, and I can't help but think that the sexual frustration is making it worse.

I turn my head to stare out the window as I say, "Up the ante?"

"Yeah," he nods. "This is fast becoming harder for me than it is for you."

I smirk. He's got a pretty good poker face, but he's also taken like, eight showers in the last three days. I mean, I know it's summer, but I'm pretty sure he's hot for an entirely different reason: me. I snicker, far too proud at my inner monologue, and then, flicking my eyes to his crotch, I say, "Oh believe me, I believe that."

He rolls his eyes. "You know, I was going to let it slide if you were nice about it. But you weren't. So now, you're on a sex _and_ snuggling embargo."

"What?" I can hear the sharp edge in my voice. Not sleeping with Edward is hard enough; but not actually _sleeping_ with him would be torture. I've gotten extremely used to falling asleep with him. In fact, I can't even remember the last time we didn't spend the night together bar a business trip he had to take.

"Yup," he says, nodding. "And not just for while we're at my parents'. If you don't agree to tell them this weekend, Bella, the embargo continues."

"Snuggling, Edward? Really?" I'm trying to be nonchalant about this, like I couldn't care less, but Edward knows me too well. Depriving me of snuggling—depriving me of _him_, really, is hitting where it hurts.

He smirks. "Yeah. Sex, you can do by yourself—"

"Oh believe me, I _have_," I interrupt. I enjoy the fact that his eyes glaze over, and I know he's picturing it for two seconds before he shakes himself out of his thoughts.

"As I was saying: you can have sex all by yourself." The left side of his mouth quirks because he's still a guy, even if he's shaming his gender by cockblocking himself so thoroughly. "But you can't snuggle by yourself. And you, Bella," he says, taking his hand off the gears to rub my knee, "are a grade-A snuggler. If snuggling was every drug on the planet, you'd be Courtney Love."

I roll my eyes, but inside, I can hear the implied _dun dun dunnnn._ I'm pretty sure my days are numbered.

—|—

The Cullens' house is massive and lovely, but its upstairs hasn't been refurbished like the downstairs was. The classic wooden floorboards sometimes squeak or sigh when weight is put on them—which is not ideal when I'm trying to sneak all the way from one end of the house to the other, where Edward's bedroom is located, especially when I have to pass not only Carlisle and Esme's room, but the guest room, where my father is sleeping.

But it's been three days now. Three days since I've slept next to Edward and six days since I've slept with Edward. And that's led to the most lousy week of actual sleep I've ever gotten. Desperate times call for desperate measures.

Somehow—and by somehow, I mean tiptoeing with my body and arms hunched like I'm a cartoon villain—I get across without waking anyone up. I let myself into Edward's room, holding the doorknob down and releasing it slowly, as if the quiet click will wake the house.

Edward is sprawled on his stomach on one side of the bed. My heart flips to see that even when I'm not there, he still sleeps on the left side, with his arm outstretched to the right, where I would be. In the heat, he's kicked off the sheets and is just in his boxers. The moonlight filtering in through the gaps in the curtains shines on his skin and makes me want to touch him everywhere.

Especially those two lower back dimples, more pronounced than ever because of the way the shadows fall. _Hello, my friends._

I get that feeling I do sometimes, where I miss him even when he's right there, and I walk to the bed. Leaping ungracefully over his body to my side of the bed, which is closer to the wall, I lift his arm and lie down.

The movement wakes him, which I'll admit may have been why I did it. He squints one eye open and mumbles, "Are you here to cuddle with me?"

I laugh and scoot closer to him. "Maybe." I push my cold toes on top of his, and he recoils, grunting as he jerks his foot away.

"Can't cuddle with you," he mumbles. Even if his words are belied by the way puts his arm around me and pulls me closer, he turns his head the other way.

"Why not?" I say, burying my face in the side of his neck.

He hums quietly, pulling me even closer, but doesn't turn his head, so when he speaks, I can't hear his answer.

"What?" I ask, craning my head.

"Because I'm on a sex and snuggling embargo," he says, still half asleep.

"I'm not after the sex. Can't we just cuddle?" I plead. I am surprised at how much I just miss being close to him.

"No."

"Why not?" I huff.

"Because I think I'm about to break you."

I roll my eyes, starting to get irritated, partially from his stubbornness and partially from the fact that he doesn't seem to care that I'm a little desperate for him right now.

"I don't get why you're pushing this so much," I tell him.

"I don't get why you're fighting this so much," he retorts.

I sit up fully, sighing. I knew this was too big to simply brush away by sneaking into his room, but I really have missed him. Edward might have wanted us to tell our parents, hell, he might even be blackmailing me to do it, but he would never actually do it against my will. So we've been keeping our distance from each other a bit; unfortunately, being that he is both my best friend and my boyfriend, even a small gap between us feels doubly big.

A few seconds later, I feel him rouse. He flips on to his back and slips his arm around me, coaxing me to lie down. I turn on my side, burrowing into him. I lightly run my fingers over a spot on the side of his waist, just below his ribs, where I know he's extremely ticklish.

He shudders and says, "Quit it," slapping my hand away before he twines our fingers together.

"I hate fighting with you," I tell him.

He turns his head, resting his chin on the top of my hair. "Me too. This is torture."

I roll my eyes, because I know he's making fun of me. Granted, even our fights are pretty mellow—we're just not shouters, though I do get kind of irrational sometimes. He'll simply match it with that imperturbability that usually keeps me sane; but when I'm angry, it just infuriates me, because I just want to get a reaction out of him the way he gets them out of me.

"Want to do that thing we do?" I ask him.

"I told you, we're not having sex," he says. I pinch him lightly, which makes him jump and laugh, because he knows that's not what I'm talking about.

"I let you go first," I offer graciously.

He sighs. "I hate doing this."

"Maybe we need," I say quietly.

He is still for a moment. "Yeah, okay."

I try to pull away slightly so I can look at him while he talks, and smile when he protests my movement. Instead, he flips on to his side, opening his eyes fully as he tucks one hand under his cheek. I mimic his position, but place my feet, which are warmer now, on top of his. He wiggles his toes a little, and they brush along the bottoms of my feet, which makes me giggle.

I nudge his elbow where it is resting next to mine. "Go ahead."

"Okay, so my girl—"

"Ah! No!" I interrupt. "You know how we have to start it."

He rolls his eyes, an act that should annoy me more than it does, except that when he does it, his eyelashes almost touch his eyebrows and look so pretty that it melts away my irritation. He has no idea how much of a fool I am for him.

"For the record, I still find this as dumb as the day you suggested it."

"For the record, I don't care. It works. It's important to set the scene. I told you how it worked for my improv group," I argue.

Another eye roll, and my treacherous stomach flips again. "I'm not sure why we're listening to the advice of an amateur theater group called 'Troupe Doggy Dog," he mutters. "And you were in it for like, four days, before they kicked you ou—"

"Just set the damn scene, Edward."

He clears his throat, and in the most bored, disinterested voice he can put on, he says, "Hello, my best friend Bella. How strange to see you in this coffee shop."

Inserting extra enthusiasm in my tone, I say, "Ohhi, also my best friend Edward! How _wonderful_ to see you. How are you?"

Breaking the exchange, Edward whines, "Bella, this is _so_ stup—"

"Edward, for the love of God and our sex life, please play along."

He sighs. "Fine." He puts on a strange tone again, purposely over enunciating his words. "I am okay, Bella. I had a fight with my girlfriend, who is absolutely _not_ you."

"Well," I reply. "Since I am your best friend and definitely _not_ your girlfriend, tell me about it."

This part, I know he appreciates, because his voice returns to normal, and he grabs my hand, playing with my fingers as he speaks. "My girlfriend doesn't want to tell our parents we're together yet. Which I find a little ridiculous since we've been together for nearly six months now."

"It'll be five months this month," I correct.

"Which is _nearly_ six months," he retorts. "Usually, I get it; she's a bit commitment-phobic, but she loves me, and that's all I need." He raises his eyes to meet mine as he speaks his next words. "But sometimes, it just hurts my feelings."

I break out of character, my superior theatrical training be damned. "You can't say that! You're totally playing on my sympathies as your girlfriend!"

"It's not my fault you can't push aside being my girlfriend to focus on how you would react if you were my friend."

He's got a point, and I pull our joined hands to my mouth to kiss them. "Maybe I can't," I say quietly. "So can we just talk about it as you and me?"

He laughs. "Yeah, I _think _I'm okay with abandoning the role-playing. Unless—"

"Focus," I warn him.

He grins slyly at me. "We _will_ return to that topic."

"Sure, but maybe when we're not in the middle of denying each other sex. Or in your parents' house."

He chuckles. "Good point."

"Edward… I can't do this anymore. I mean, it's all fun and games till it's not fun anymore," I say. I really need things between us to be fixed.

"Just explain again," he says, and his words are so gentle that I would do anything he asks. "Tell me why you don't want to tell them."

"Because it raises all these expectations," I say.

He cocks an eyebrow. "Do you not have any expectations beyond this? Because I do and—"

"Other people's expectations. It's fine if you or I have expectations," I tell him. "It's good, it's what keeps us working. And you—" I raise my hand to cup his cheek "—you are literally _perfect_ at this."

"At what? Being the pushy, needy one in a relationship?" he jokes.

I give him a smile but I'm at my most serious when I say, "No. You're perfect at being with me."

"You do realize you're only supporting _my_ argument," he says.

I sigh and roll on to my back before turning to look at him. "You know if I agree to it now, it'll be for all the wrong reasons."

"What are these wrong reasons?"

I shrug. "Guilt for making you feel bad. Or just plain horniness."

He laughs. "I'm okay with that."

"What?" I jerk my head towards him. "You're supposed to feel guilty that you are making _me_ feel guilty."

"Nah, not so much," he says, smirking. "But I do feel horny know I am making you horny. Does that count?"

I laugh despite myself. "Can we at least cut out the snuggling embargo?" I roll into him, positioning his arms around me as he laughs. "I've really, really missed sleeping next to you."

He sighs. "One day, I _will_ find the place you have hidden my balls." He kisses my temple lovingly. "But yes. We can forget about it." I'm about to say thank you, silly as it might sound, when he adds, "All of it. Any and all embargoes."

I tilt my head up to look at him, and he's smiling. I love that he's just not gotten his way, but still he's smiling. He kisses me sweetly and chastely and says, "Turns out, I am feeling a little guilty about making you feel a little guilty."

And maybe it's reverse psychology or maybe I just need to get my own stubborn head out of my equally adamant ass, but now _I'm_ ready to give in too. Edward has never led me wrong. And if other people, people as important to us as his parents and my father, are going to have expectations of us, I need to deal with it. I have to stop letting Edward down because I'm afraid. He'll take it and still love me, which is precisely why he doesn't deserve it.

So, smiling, I kiss his lips twice and very quickly, before I say, "Alright, let's tell them tomorrow."

A slow smile grows on Edward's face, and then he lets out a quiet whoop. "Oh man, reverse psychology _totally_ works." I laugh as he grabs my face with both hands and kisses me. "You sure? I don't want you to be guilty over me being guilty over you being guilty."

I giggle again. "I'm not feeling guilty, I promise. I'm a bit terrified, but I'm not feeling guilty."

"Terrified? I don't—"

I cut him off with a short peck. "Don't worry about it. I really am okay with this."

He grins and kisses me, this time long and deep. I roll onto my back, pulling him with me. He hovers over me, gently letting his body weight rest of me before pulling away to look at me.

"So…" he says, smiling lightly. "Sex embargo is lifted. Things between us are all good and well. Do you want to…"

"Honestly?" I say. "Not really. I mean, I love you and I've missed you, but even the idea of being caught by either of our parents—_especially_ my dad—kills any sex drive I have."

"Oh thank God," he says, flopping over and off me. He wedges his arm under my shoulders and pulls me to him. I lift my leg and splay it across his hip, and he rubs my thigh. "Seriously, that whole risk of getting caught thing is hot—unless it's by people I'm blood related to."

I laugh and agree. "So I guess we can just snuggle?"

He laughs too. "Snuggle junkie. Yes we can. But you'll have to sneak back to your room in the morning so that we don't accidentally tell them before we actually, you know, _tell_ them."

"Okay," I say. Then I lift my head and ask him, "Are we weird for not wanting to have sex right now?"

He chuckles. "Not weird; just hyper-aware that our parents are twenty feet away."

Suddenly, I remember something. "There is one thing I want to do."

"What?"

"Flip over," I tell him.

"What?"

"Flip onto your stomach."

"Okay," he says skeptically but does as I ask.

And there they are. I run my fingers over the tiny divots in his back before leaning down and kissing them, which makes Edward laugh. _I've missed you, my old friends._

I sleep soundly that night.


	14. Outtake 2

Hi! So this is just a goofy little outtake I wrote to say thanks for reading and reviewing and always being so sweet. I can't believe we hit 6K reviews and that's only because you guys are the best, best, best. thank you, imy, ily, americnxidiot.

* * *

"Oh, the weather outside is frightful, but the fire is so delightful, and since we've no place to go—"

"Christmas not for another month! Stop singing that song!" Edward yells from the living room.

I walk out of the bedroom where I was folding the load of laundry I'd just done since Edward has a washer-dryer in his apartment. And because I'm here most of the time anyway.

"That is not a Christmas song," I tell him, hands on my hips. "That is a _snow_ song and we are in the middle of a snow storm and work is cancelled tomorrow, therefore: let it snow, let it snow, let it snow!"

"Hey," he calls. "Should we join the carolers in my building? There was a flyer up in the lobby."

I snort. "You? _You _want to go caroling from door-to-door?"

"Maybe."

I have to keep myself from laughing. "Oh, you'd be _great_."

"You think?" he says, smiling a little goofily. I don't think anyone has ever told him he'd be a good singer before.

There's a good reason.

"Oh yeah. You'd give _all_ the fingernail and chalkboard duos a run for their money. Don't make that face at me. You _know_ you're a bad singer. You have all the pitch of a fork against scraping on a Teflon plan."

"Well, I sing about as well as you dance," he shoots back.

"Then we'd make quite the double act."

He nods, grinning. "We could go on tour. People could take their friends to our show as a bad joke. 'Welcome to the world's worst hour of entertainment.'"

"It could work. I mean, that was probably the same pitch they gave for _Jersey Shore_."

"I don't know if you hold the appeal of Snooki, though," he says, holding his hands out in front of his chest, miming gigantic breasts.

I stick my tongue out at him and walk back into the bedroom, but not even ten seconds later, Edward barrels into me from behind. I yelp as he slips his arms around my waist and tackles me onto the bed. He grins at me widely as he raises his body so I can turn over to face him and brushes his nose against mine.

"Was there something you wanted, Edward?" I ask sarcastically.

He schools his expression into one of casual apathy and shrugs. "Nah."

"Cool."

"Cool."

We lie like that, him on top of me, in silence for a few minutes. We still do things like this, play silly little games as if we're kindergartners on a playground instead of grown-ups in a committed relationship. But I think that's what we'll always be like. It's what I hope we will always be like.

"Alright, I give in," he says.

"Ha!" I practically shout in his face. "Such a quitter."

"Well, my arm is just about completely asleep, and I kind of need it to do what I want to do," he says.

"And pray, do tell what it is you want to do," I reply, as he rolls us over so I'm lying on top of him now.

He smirks, shaking his arm out to the side to regain the blood flow before resting his palm on the small of my back. "I want to have sex in and on your freshly cleaned laundry."

I shiver, a little from his words because they're silly and still somehow sexy, but mostly because he keeps running four fingers lightly up and down the bottom of my back, dipping under the waistband of my pants every few passes.

"Don't tell me clean laundry turns you on," I tell him.

"_You_ folding laundry turns me on."

"Really?"

"Oh yeah." He nods for emphasis.

"Why?"

He exhales. "How can I explain it? It's like… imagine you're dating a guy and—"

"Where are you in this scenario?" I ask.

"Huh?" he says, that little cute eyebrow frown forming because he's confused. "I'm right here."

"Well, then why do I have to imagine I'm dating a guy? I _am _dating a guy; the one who is lying under me right now."

He rolls his eyes. "Never mind."

"No please, continue. Explain why fabric softener seems to have the opposite effect on you," I joke, wiggling my hips into his.

He lets out a groaning laugh, or maybe it's a laughing groan. Either way, the two noises are inextricably part of each other and I can't help but think that it fits us perfectly. Neither of us are perfect, but we're sort of perfect together. I slip my hand down from where it was playing with the short hair at the top of his neck and tweak his chin with my thumb and forefinger.

He raises an eyebrow. "You getting sentimental on me, Swan?"

I smile, because he knows me so, so well. "A little."

He grins. "Want to tell me about it?"

"Can I just show you?"

His smile only grows as he rolls us over and pushes us up a little higher on the bed, knocking over a pile of folded pants. He sits up on his knees, which are between my legs, and reaches down to start unbuttoning my shirt.

"I'm a little worried about this developing laundry fetish," I tell him, just lying there and letting him do all the work of undressing me.

He grins. "What do you mean developing?"

"Um… remember the time you pretty much attacked me in your laundry room-closet-thing, and we did it on top of the washing machine? While it was on?"

He stops taking off my clothes—damn it—and gives me a skeptical look. "You are either a damn liar or very stupid if you don't realize how much of that was for _your_ benefit."

"Yes, now that I think about it, I did benefit quite well." In fact, I benefitted quite well twice.

He grins and pulls my sweatpants and his jeans off, scattering my piles of laundry all over the bed and floor. He moves over me, giving me a long kiss, his tongue loving my mouth in the hottest way, before he moves away to reach over to his bedside table. He pulls open the drawer and searches for a few moments before swearing.

"Bella, I fucking ran out of condoms," he tells me.

I blush deeply. "I think I should have an, um, emergency one in my purse," I tell him. He reaches off the bed and picks it up from the ground, sitting back on his heels so I can sit up and root through it.

I'm really, really hoping he won't think too much about why I carry an emergency condom around, but he's Edward and he doesn't really miss much. Especially not when it comes to me.

"So… an emergency condom, huh?" he asks, smirk on and eyebrow raised. I nod. "How long have you had it for?" I shrug. "Have you had to replenish it often?" I shake my head. "Are you ever going to speak again?"

"Not while this topic is still being discussed," I reply, opening and re-opening the various compartments in my purse.

"Except you just did," he points out. _Damn it!_ "So… seriously. You carry an emergency condom…"

"Just in case I fall into bed with my best friend on Valentine's Day," I tell him glibly.

He grins and then frowns. "But we didn't use a condom that night."

"I know. I was better about remembering to take my birth control then, so we didn't need it… it's not like that's even something I did. Alice put it in there like, _months_ ago as a joke. And I guess I sort of still keep it in there in case, um, you and I ever need it. Um, suddenly. Since I can be really bad about my birth control sometimes." I sneak a look at him and he's grinning.

Smug bastard.

"You should know I will not be giving you any more shit about this. Ever again," he says, sincerely.

"You won't?"

"No way. If you want to carry a condom in case you feel the need to have sex with me someplace public, I'm not going to oppose that. In fact, I'll make sure the emergency condom gets put to good use, _and_ I'll make sure to replenish the supply," he declares proudly.

I shoot him a wry smile. "How gracious of you." I root around once more. "Shit, where is—oh no. Oh no no no no."

"What?"

"I won't go into details because it involves the bathroom at Pike's Bar and Alice and Jasper, but I'm pretty sure my emergency condom was used. By someone other than you."

"Damn it," he says. "Can we… uh," he waffles, scratching his nose and tugging on his ear. Edward, Edward Cullen, _my_ Edward is nervous about asking me something. It's unbelievably endearing. "Can we do it without one?"

Oh.

Shit. Because now that he's said it, I really, really want to. It wouldn't be the first time we've done it without a condom, but it has been awhile since we have, mainly because: "Um," I begin sheepishly. "I've sort of still not gone to pick up my birth control refill."

He gives me a look as if he thinks I'm a moron for forgetting. He's totally right, I _am_ a moron, but still, I say, "Hey, don't give me that look, okay? You were out of town, so I just kept putting it off, and then the storm hit and I totally forgot about it."

"Is picking up your prescription really that hard?" he asks wryly.

I make a face at him. "The pharmacist gives me judging eyes every time I go! And her name is Judy. She's like my own real life Judge Judy."

He rolls off of me onto his side and just stares at me for a few seconds. I know he's being serious because he's staring at my face, not my boobs.

"Are you quite sure you're not insane?" he asks.

I shake my head. "I'm not sure of that at all. Are you okay with dating someone insane?"

"As long as it's not criminally insane, and you know, is _you_, then yeah."

"It's not even psychologically. I'm more… dispositionally insane."

"That's not a thing."

"It totally is a thing."

"No, it's not."

"How can it not be a thing when I _am_ that thing?" I argue.

"'Dispositionally' is not even a word, that's how it's not a thing."

I make the face I always make when he's right, but for once, Edward doesn't grin smugly back at me.

"Could we go out and get some condoms?" I suggest, trying to placate him. He seems genuinely upset. "I mean, it's not very in the moment but—"

"We're in the middle of a snowstorm, remember?" He flops onto his back. "I doubt there'd be any pharmacies open even if we did go out."

"Oh, yeah."

We're silent a few moments and then he says, "Well, this is just great. We finally have some time to ourselves, no distractions, no business trips, no annoying friends who never leave us alone… and no condoms. Great."

"Sorry," I mutter, and his eyes immediately soften. He slips his arm around me, bringing me close to him.

With his lips against my forehead, he says, "Sorry. I didn't mean to sound like such a jerk."

"I know," I say quietly, still feeling kind of bad until an idea enters my head. "But hey, we _could_…"

He angles his head down to look at me. "We could…?"

"We could do, um, everything but?"

"Everything but?" he repeats, eyebrows high on his forehead.

I shrug, moving so I'm lying on top of him. "Yeah… you know. Like in high school. 'Don't be a slut, just do everything but'?"

Edward bursts out laughing. "Is that what girls said?" he asks, incredulous.

I shrug. "I mean, it's not very nice…"

"It's not nice at _all_. Man, I never thought about how much high school must suck for a girl."

"Yeah, well, that's another conversation," I say, wiggling a little on top of him the way I know he likes to get his attention back to the matter at hand. Or rather, the matter I'd like to be in my hand. "So… everything but…"

Suddenly, his smile turns devilish, and it feels like the room gets hotter just from the force of it. "Everything but, huh?" He slides his hands up and down my back.

"I'm sure we can figure out plenty to do."

"Everything but," he repeats, pronouncing it a little strangely.

"Yeah. Everything but," I repeat.

"Butt…" he says.

I frown. Do I have to explain this concept to him? "But… sex."

"Butt sex," he repeats. He's smirking a little bit and now I'm really confused. What is going on in that head of his?

"Yes," I reply. "That's what I said. Everything but sex."

"That's _not_ what I'm talking about," he tells me pointedly.

"What are you talking about then?" I ask him.

"Butt sex." He keeps sliding his hands up and down my back, going lower and lower each time, and it's distracting in the best way.

"Yes, exactly, everything…" And suddenly, as his hands firmly palm my ass, I get what he is saying. "Oh. Butt sex."

His eyes are watching me closely, and I know that while he wouldn't be opposed to doing it—at all— he's said it more to get a reaction out of me.

And I'm not going to let him down.

"Oh my god!" I shout, leaping out of bed.

"Bella—"

"Whoa whoa whoa. _That's_ what you've been thinking about?"

"Well… a little," he admits.

"For how long?"

"What?"

"For how long?" How long has he been thinking about this? Has he been wishing we could do it, only to be faced with boring, old normal sex? Not that sex between us has ever been boring. Suddenly, a horrible thought enters my head: what if it's only not been boring for me? What if he's totally sick of regular sex? "For this whole conversation? For the whole time we've been dating?" My voice is doing that thing, where it's at the same pitch as a tea kettle that's come to boil.

"Bella, it's not like that."

"_How long_, Edward?"

He shrugs. "I don't know. I've kind of wondered about it since Garrett did it in college and told me it was the best sex he's ever had." Quickly, he adds, "Don't tell Kate he said that. He said Kate is better overall but as an isolated incident that was the best."

I roll my eyes. "Guys are assholes. Even you and Garrett."

"Well, I don't know about guys _being _assholes but they sure—"

"Have you done it before?" I interrupt.

"No, never," he says. "I didn't—Look, Bella, I really didn't meant to freak you out—"

"I'm not freaking out!" I nearly shout, proving that I am totally and completely freaking out. Then, way more timidly than I normally speak, I continue, "I just didn't know that was something you wanted…"

He snorts. "Bella, I think it's something pretty much every guy wants."

I sit down on the bed. "Oh." He sits up and then reaches over, sliding his arm around my waist and pulling me to him.

"Relax," he tells me. "We don't have to do it."

"Damn straight we don't have to do it!" I say, mildly outraged, and he laughs.

"Well, good to see you're back to being you, baby."

I give an indignant sniffle and then slump into his arms. "I just… I mean, is this a problem... that it's non-negotiable with me?"

"You know, yeah, it is," he replies, nodding slowly. "You and I have been dating for like… eight months. And I know I pursued you like a madman. And yeah, you're my best friend too, and I'm stupid in love with you and we have amazing sex. But I'm definitely going to break up with you over something I've ever even done before."

"Well when you put it like that…" I say, crossing my arms.

"It's _really_ not a huge thing," he says. As I open my mouth to argue, he continues, "And don't blow it up in your head. I know you, you're freaking out because now you think that I want to do it and that you're depriving me, or something, by not."

I squint at him. "I hate how well you know me."

"Well, you're crazy but in predicable patterns."

"Watch it," I tell him, holding up a finger. "You better check yourself before you wreck yourself."

He laughs. "The fact that you said that might actually be a deal-breaker."

I'm quiet for a few minutes, as I mull this over. I mean, I know why guys would want to do it. But it's just so... gross. I mean, why would you ever want to associate pleasure with the part of your body that is sometimes called—by only the most mature of people, of course—a poop chute?

"Anal sex is icky!" I burst out, and Edward cracks up. "I just… I don't _get_ it," I cry and Edward is rolling on the bed with laughter now.

"Well," he says, when he manages to catch his breath. "What don't you get? I mean, do I really need to explain what sex is like for a guy to you?"

"No—"

"Because I _totally_ will. I teach best by demonstration," he says, moving on top of me. He kisses my neck as I shriek with laughter and says, "Mmmm. Fabric softener, mmmm." He hums this into my neck, which tickles, and I giggle.

"I knew it. Fabric softener turns you on. You're such a sexual deviant."

"How about—" he kisses me. "We get Downy to business—" another kiss "—and you Bounce on me—" another kiss "—so we can Snuggle after."

I push on his shoulders so I can look at his face. "Did you really just say that?"

He waggles his eyebrows. "I am unbelievably brilliant and sexy, aren't I?"

"Well, you have the unbelievable part down. And we can't have sex, you idiot. That's what got us into this whole discussion." I make a face from under him, but then pull him down to me so we can kiss again. I slide my hands down his back, pulling his hips into mine, and he reciprocates by pushing. He breaks away to tug my shirt up, and once it's off, he kisses me so sweetly that it tugs straight on my heart.

"So," he says. "Everything but?"

The way he says it, his voice all low and gritty turns me on unbelievably. Everything about him does, really, but with that hungry, heated look in his eye, his hard weight over me, it's something more entirely.

I guess I'm lost in my thoughts because he repeats, "Everything but?"

I flip us over so I'm on top again, more clean laundry flying everywhere as I begin unbuttoning his shirt, kissing every inch of new skin as it is revealed to me. When his shirt is off, I move back up his body and say, "Yes. Everything but."

He moves to kiss me again, but I hold him back by the shoulders for a moment. I look him in the eye and say, very seriously:

"And for future clarification: everything but butt."

EPOV

_I am laughing so hard as you go back to kissing my chest, but it's a different kind of noise I let out when you gently tug my nipple between your teeth. _

_Sex with you has been so many different, always amazing, things; tonight it's more of a game than ever, since it's off the table. It's me moving against you, your legs bent at the knees around my hips, testing how far we can go if I stay right here and move right_ _there. It's sprinting right to the edge, where gravity and time and reason seem to have no meaning and all that matters is the feeling of you on me… and then having to stop. It's about the buttons of your body that I know how to push just right and the spaces in you that I fill with my hands and my fingers and my mouth and my tongue. It's mix-and-match, it's give-and-take, it's how many ways we can find to make up for what we can't do._

_We find a _lot_ of ways._

_There's this fantastic moment where you sit up, leaning on your elbows and looking down to watch what I am doing to you. Just as you come, I look up. Your eyes are closed and your lips are parted, and I wish my brain was a camera because I want to capture you just like this; but then again, I don't need to capture you. _

_You're already mine._

_We lie catching our breaths after and I look over at you. You've got this silly, sleepy smile on your face, and you're back to humming "Let It Snow" quietly._

"_What's going on in that head of yours?" I ask you. You smile gently, and I love that whether you say it or not, I can see right on your face how much you love me. You've always been gorgeous, but that right there, that makes you the most beautiful girl in the world._

"_I have this idea…" you say slowly._

"_Yeah? What is it?"_

"_What if, instead of refolding all these clothes and then taking them back to my apartment and folding them _again_, I could just um, hang them up. In the closet." You're still lying on your back but you keep glancing at me from the side of your eyes to gauge my reaction._

"_In _my_ closet?" I ask, working extra hard to not grin.I don't know if you'll ever learn to function in relationship like a normal person; but I don't even know if I want you to. I like you like this, with your love all sweet and crazy mixed up together.  
_

"_Um. Yeah." You fidget and now I really want to laugh. How can you be nervous? How can you even think I would ever say no?_

_That just makes me want to tease you more._

"_I don't know, though," I say, sighing. "I really like my closet the way it is. I was thinking of color coordinating it. "_

_You narrow your eyes. "You're such an ass. Move your crap over, I'm putting my stuff in your closet. Deal with it."_

_I crack up and say, "Alright, ma'am". I mock salute you—I'd be stupid to pretend not to know who wears the pants in the relationship. And who decides in which closet they'll hang, for that matter. "Though I'm pretty sure it's because you just want to avoid having to fold all that laundry again."_

_You shrug. "Not really."_

"_I don't know if I believe you," I tease. "You forget I know just how lazy you are. I've seen you eat a piece of bread, then a slice of cheese, then a slice of turkey, just to avoid having to make the actual sandwich."_

"_That was _one_ time!" you cry._

"_If we hadn't made so much fun of you, you'd probably still do it."_

"_I'm not that lazy." I snort. "I'm not!" You narrow your eyes at me. "I'll prove to you I'm not. You'll see."_

_And a few weeks later, after I return from another business trip, I do see._

_When we first started dating, I joked that if we ever decided to move in together, you had to at least tell me before I came home one day to find all your stuff in my place._

_You didn't tell me. _

_I don't mind. Like I said: sweet and crazy all mixed up, so you can't tell where one starts and the other stops. I wouldn't want anything else._

* * *

Life is crazy hectic right now, but I'm gonna try to write another outtake for the FGB compilation, one that actually has some plot haha. I know this outtake was kind of silly but I hope you enjoyed it anyway. Tell me if you didn't or if you did or just say hi. I missed writing these characters and I really missed you guys.


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